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A 

SEQUEL TO “MONFORT HALL.” 

BEING 

A ROMANCE OF THE HOUSE OF BEAUSEINCOURT. 


BY MRS. CATHARINE A. WARFIELD. 


» i 

AUTHOR OF 


“THE HOUSEHOLD OF BOUVERIE,” 

"MONFORT hall/’ "sea AND SHORE,” "HESTER HOWARD^ TEMPTATION,” 
"A DOUBLE WEDDING,* OR, HOW SHE WAS WON,” ETC. 



“The curse of heaven lies upon our house , 

’Tit's dedicate to ruin. Even me 
My father's guilt drags with it to perdition. 

My soul's benighted, I no longer can 
Distinguish the right track. Mourn not for me: 
My destiny will quickly be decided 



PHILADELPHIA: 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS- 

306 CHESTNUT STREET. 


Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1876, by 
T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. 


IRS. C. A. WARFIELD’S NEW WORKS. 

Each Book is in One Volume, Morocco Cloth, price $1.75. 

MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 

MONFORT HALL. 

SEA AND SHORE. 

THE HOUSEHOLD OF BOUVERIE. 

A DO UBLE WEDDING ; or , How She was Won. 
HESTER HOWARD'S TEMPTATION. 

From George Ripley' s Review of “ The Household of Bouverie ” in Harper's Magazine. 

“‘The Household of Bouverie’ betrays everywere a daring boldness of conception, 
singular fertility of illustration, and a combined beauty and vigor of expression, which it 
would be difficult to match in any recent works of fiction. In these days, it is somewhal 
refreshing to meet with a female novel-writer like Mrs. Warfield, who displays in her works 
the unmistakable fire of genius, however terrific its brightness.” 

From Marion Harland, author of “Alone,” “Hidden Path,” etc. 

“ ‘The Household of Bouverie,’ by Mrs. Warfield, is a wonderful book. I have read i 
twice — the second time more carefully than the first — and I use the term ‘wonderful, 
because it best expresses the feeling uppermost in my mind, both while reading and thinkin j 
it over. As a piece of imaginative writing, I have seen nothing to equal it since the days c 
Edgar A. Poe, and I doubt whether he could have sustained himself and the reader througl 
a book half the size of the 4 Household of Bouverie.’ I was literally hurried through it b 
my intense sympathy, my devouring curiosity — it was more than interest. I read everj 
where — between the courses of the hotel-table, on the boat, in the cars — until I ha 
swallowed the last line. This is no common occurrence with a veteran romance readt 
like myself.” 

From Gail Hamilton, author of “Gala Days,” etc. 

“ 4 The Household of Bouverie ’ is one of those books that pluck out all your teeth, ar 
then dare you to bite them. Your interest is awakened at once in the first chapter, ar 
you are whirled through in a lightning-express train that leaves you no opportunity 
look at the little details of wood, and lawn, and river. You notice two or three litt 
peculiarities of style — one or two ‘bits’ of painting — and then you pull on your seve 
leagued boots, and away you go.” 


Above Books are for sale by all Booksellers at $1.75 each, or $10.50 for a compl 
set of the six volumes, or copies of either one or more of the above Books, or a complete set 
the six volumes, will be sent at once, to any one, to any place, post-paid , or free of freig 
on remitting their price in a letter to the Publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 

. 306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa, 


BOOK FIRST. 






“There’s a dark spirit walking in our house, 

And swiftly will the destiny close o’er us. 

It drove me hither from my calm asylum — 

And lo, the abyss! and thither am I moving, 

I have no power within me but to move.” 

Piccolomine. 

Coleridge (Translation of Schiller). 


‘And lo! upon the murmuring waves 
A glorious shape appearing, 

A broad winged vessel through the shower 
Of glimmering lustre steering, 

As if the beauteous ship enjoyed 
The beauty of the sea — 

She lifteth up her stately head, 

And saileth joyfully.” 

Wilson — Isle of Palms, 




“Seest thou yon gray gleaming hall 
Where the deep elm shadows fall ? 
Voices that have left this earth 
Long ago, 

Still are murmuring round its hearth 
Soft and low, 

Ever there — yet one alone 
Hath the gift to hear their tone.” 


Mbs. Hkman& 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS 


BY MBS. C. A. WARFIELD. 

AUTHOR OF “THE HOUSEHOLD OF BOUVERIE.” 




BOOK FIRST. 

CHAPTER I. 

§ T was all very brief and bitter ! I put back my hair 
from my forehead, and with interlocked fingers pressed 
tightly over throbbing eyeballs, threw myself back in 

f my deep chair, and reflected — nay more, remembered. 
It is a strange, mysterious process, that through 
which the will, scarcely conscious of an effort, com- 
mands long processions or rolling panoramas to be 
arrayed by the magician Memory before the sovereign soul, 
as passed the shadowy line of Duncan athwart the eyes of 
the destined monarch, at the behest of witches ! 

Conjury is nothing to this royal privilege common to all 
humanity which “ curdles a long life into one hour.” 

Sitting thus and there, scarcely conscious of having 
touched any spring of the past by thought or inclination, 
it rose before me like a a solemn pageant. 

Swiftly, briefly I swept the gamut of my life, as does the 
skilful performer ascending the instrument, with intro- 
verted fingers, yet was every note distinct to my ear and 
significant to my spirit. 

From the time of my mother's death up to the present 
moment, all was comprehensive, clear. The faces of my 
dead father, my sweet, young stepmother, long at rest, 
were not less vivid to me than those of the living — of Mrs. 
Austin, Evelyn, Mabel, or of that brace of arch conspirators, 
the Bainerothes, father and son. I saw too, as if they stood 

( 21 ) 


22 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


before me, those dear and distant friends, powerless to 
serve me in this emergency, George Gaston, his mother and 
sister, Captain and Norman Stanbury, and my lifelong 
friend and counseller, Dr. Pemberton. Nay, the cold, 
grave, reproving face of Mr. Lodore was not wanting in 
that strange masque of memory, that lightning flash of 
spirit. But the last scene presented by this mental mirage, 
that scene so recently enacted in the library, was of course 
the centre of the Catharine’s wheel of fire, around which all 
the rest revolved. 

Again I seemed to lie on the cushioned sofa, in the em- 
brasure of the wide window, concealed by a sweeping cur- 
tain, as I had fallen asleep over that weary tragedy of 
Racine’s, in the dim, rainy, August twilight ; and again 
I seemed to hear the voices that had awakened me to sud- 
den agony ! The low, sad, bitter tones of Evelyn ; the 
calm, clear, concentrated accents of Basil Bainerothe, as he 
urged his scheme of villainy and cruelty on his unwilling 
and yet, because constrained, unresisting accomplice. 

Again I felt the cold dew break forth over my trembling 
frame as starting from my couch — that couch upon which I 
fell back in the next moment oppressed by deadly fear that 
held me cowering and spellbound, until they who in the 
eye of the law were my sovereigns had left the apartment — 
I heard the cruel verdict agreed upon between them that 
must have consigned me to a living tomb. 

Instinct had restrained my steps to the precincts of that 
dim and distant library, until I felt that I should be safe 
from rencounter in hall or on stairway in seeking my own 
chamber, whither I had fled at last, to bar and bolt the door 
behind me, and cast myself down to revolve some plan of 
action, of escape. My mind had swept suddenly and pow- 
erfully across the regions of the past to reach the present. 
As an eagle drops swiftly down through clouds and sun- 
shine to seek his nest, and there sits and broods for a season, 
I too must pause, must think, before I dared another flight ; 
but as surely as the monarch bird puts forth his wings at 
morning, would I expand and try my newly aroused pow- 
ers, as soon as dawn should break once more on my bewild- 
ered faculties. 

One thing was indubitable; I must break through the 
sullen chains that had so long controlled me, and know free- 
dom at last. I thought I knew that hour how Samson rent 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


23 


his bonds. The sudden impulse that carries the slave to 
the swamp, after years of patient toil and bondage, pos- 
sessed me. Every instinct of my nature was alive and 
athirst, and all pointed to one goal, one living draught. 
I would have liberty, or perish in the effort. All great res- 
olutions mature suddenly, however distant and obscure may 
be their sources ; and so I believe do all great individual res- 
olutions. The dreamer suddenly unfolds his hands and rises 
to exertion. The drunkard, at night an object of scorn and 
derision, oasts down the cup as he leaves the ale-house, and 
stands at morning on his own threshold redeemed and glo- 
rified. The libertine pauses, as if an angel had crossed his 
path, before some aspect of youth and beauty, and repu- 
diates the impurity of his life. The thief restores, either 
through the confessional or openly and remorsefully, the 
plundered treasure. Are these revelations of conscience 
less truly wonderful than the divine grace of which preach- 
ers tell us, and which I verily believe falls like dew from 
heaven on many an arid heart ? We cannot probe these 
mysteries nor find their roots, strive as we may ; enough 
that they exist, and thus prove their own reality. 

It has sometimes seemed to me that, in all instances, it 
is best to undertake what the soul impels us strongly to do, 
whether successful or unsuccessful. When I say “ the 
soul,” I feel that I shall be understood to mean that no sor 
did or craven impulse could be thus suggested, or emanate 
from such a source. All know, who have ever experienced 
these movements of the mind, how their surrender impover- 
ishes all subsequent existence, and how the vanished 
“might have been ” absorbs much after enjoyment, 
t Let the youth go forth to battle, or to sea ; the maiden 
undertake her mission, whether real or imagined ; whatever 
the result. Is there no joy in action, that success should be 
solely considered ? Is result evermore to be held para- 
mount to motive ? I saw a caged mocking-bird once, long 
tame and docile, in whose breast the wild, latent instinct of 
freedom woke to life so suddenly, that it partook of frenzy, 
and in the unavailing effort to escape, it beat the best part 
of its life away against its prison bars, then moped and 
pined and gradually declined. 

Better than this had been the chances of destruction by 
storm or starvation, or the talons of the hawk or eagle I 
Better failure and disaster as the meeds of human endeavor, 


24 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


than gloom and discontent and sullen quiescent disappoint- 
ment. Let us lead our true life, let the end be what it 
may. After all, the end here is but the beginning there. I 
felt, I reasoned thus. 

I would go forth, betide what might, girded in the armor 
of my youth, my energy, my good intentions. Even if ar- 
rested in my flight, brought back to the scene of my suffer- 
ing and humiliation, and compelled at last to submit to the 
stringency of circumstance, it should not be through fault 
of mine. I should have proved myself capable of endeavor, 
and in this thought should take a sort of bitter consolation. 
Hours passed on. 

As yet I had digested no plan of action. I would go 
westward, I thought, but just as far away as my money would 
carry me, from these fiends, trusting to God for the rest, 
just as a boat pulls off from a blazing ship to strive for the 
shore, yet founders, perchance, in ocean. Of course I 
must adopt another name — what should it be ? I should 
need clothing, and how secure, how convey away my ward- 
robe unseen by Evelyn ? My diamonds, my only treasures, 
must be secreted or disposed of ; how should this be done ? 
Could I trust Mrs. Austin, Morton, Mabel even ? No, the 
suggestion was discarded at once. The first were too old, 
too self-indulged and one of them too selfish (and in age 
people usually worship expediency above all else) either for 
generous counsel or couragous action ; the other far too 
young, not to be necessarily indiscreet and impulsive. In- 
deed to have been otherwise at her tender years would have 
been simply monstrous ! It was all right and natural. No, 
I must forego even the sweet satisfaction of saying farewell 
to Mabel ; we must part, perhaps forever, as if we might 
meet again in an hour, and in all her after distress and anx- 
iety must pass unshared, unheeded by any but her God. 

There was no one else I cared very much about leaving, 
but the love of locality was a strong feature in my dispo- 
sition, and every room in my father’s house was dear to 
me, every book in his study, and every plant in our deep, 
green-shadowed garden. The very streets were sacred in 
my sight, that 1 had trodden from childhood. But my liber- 
ty was more precious to my heart than scenes of old associ- 
ation, and to gain one the other must be sacrificed. There 
was no hesitating now ; I was on the treadmill of fate and 
must proceed or fall and be crushed beneath. And here 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


25 


again I repeat what I have said so recently and with earnest 
conviction of its mysterious truth : on what slight pivots 
does our destiny often turn ! Through what small channels 
doth Providence work its wondrous ways ! 

A pair of shoes had been sent home for me that day, 
which still lay on the table beside which I sat, wrapped and 
corded. In truth, they came very opportunely. “ I shall 
want these soon,” I thought as I examined the strong elas- 
tic bootees, which had been made for me in view of my 
morning walks — a part of dear Doctor Pemberton’s regimen 
which I still strenuously and advantageously carried out. 

As I was holding the shoes after examining them, the 
paper in which they had been enveloped rustled down on 
the floor by my side. I stooped languidly to pick it up 
merely from a sense of order, I suppose, and habitual tidi- 
ness, and as I lifted it, my eye fell upon a long column 
headed “ Wanted,” and almost for lack of resolution to 
withdraw it, wandered down its paragraphs step by step, 
musingly. 

It was a democratic paper, such as was never patronized 
by Evelyn, herself a zealous conservative in politics, as our 
father had been before us ; and as I cared little for news- 
paper reading, I had never suggested a subscription to any 
sheet that she did not fancy, although I inclined to democ- 
racy, in my very temperament. I was somewhat amused 
by the quaintness of some of the advertisements of this 
sheet for the people, that style of literature being new to 
me, and found myself smiling over the perfections set forth 
as necessary by the paragons of the earth in both wife and 
servant, when I came to a dead stand ! Here was the 
very thing I should have selected, could I have chosen my 
own destination instead of depending on chance (as if in- 
deed there were such a thing possible with God, the pre- 
destinator of the universe) or necessity (is the name a much 
better one as applied to the All-seeing Deity ?) or fate (a 
more comprehensive, but not less abused term perhaps,) to 
do this work for me. 

The advertisement ran thus, and quite fascinated me with 
its eccentricity, as well as suitableness to my condition. 

“ A gentleman and lady now sojourning for a short time 
at the Mansion House, wish to employ immediately, for the 
benefit of their children, an instructress, who must be, im- 


26 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS, 


primis, a lady and young; secondly, soundly constituted, 
and well educated ; thirdly, a good reader, and able to teach 
elocution and entertain a parlor ; fourthly, willing to reside 
on a Southern plantation ; fifthly, content with a moderate 
modicum as salary. None other need apply. No refer- 
ences given or asked. Enquire for, “ Somnus.” 

1 laid down the paper and drew a long, free breath, then 
rang a peal of merriment, startling under the circum- 
stances, but most refreshing to my weary spirit. 

“ What an oddity one or the other of these people must 
be,” I thought, the man most probably; yes, I am sure it 
is he ; no woman was ever so independent of references, or 
made youth and elocution a * sine qua non. 7 77 

“ But am I soundly constituted ? ( Ay, there’s the rub.” 

Suppose my terrible foe sees fit to interfere? ' Epilepsy, 7 
as Evelyn called it, and perhaps with reason, God alone 
knows ; what then ? Well, I will hazard it, that is all. I 
will charge nothing for lost days and try to be zealous in 
the interval. Besides it is a long time since one of these 
“ obliteration 77 spells occurred ; for I shall ever believe 
Evelyn dosed me for her own purposes on that last occa- 
sion in the absence of Doctor Pemberton. Fiend ! fiend ! 
and yet my little sister must remain in such hands for a 
season. 

I passed a restless night, employing the first part of it in 
quilting my diamonds into a belt which I placed about my 
waist, and the remainder in putting together as many use- 
ful, with a few handsome clothes, as my travelling trunk 
would contain. Bonnets and evening dresses, which require 
some room to dispose of, and the like vanities I abandoned 
to Evelyn’s tender mercies. At dawn 1 slumbered. Yet I 
rose early as was my custom, and as usual, whenever the 
weather permitted, sallied forth before breakfast ; but this 
time unaccompanied by my usual attendant, Charity, as for 
my daily walk. 

“ The Mansion House,” was at no great distance from 
our own residence. The beautiful home of the Bingham 
family at that period converted into a hotel, like our own 
house, was situated in the ancient part of the city, from 
which fashion had gradually emerged and shrank away to 
found new streets and dwellings. 

I rang at the private door and asked the porter solemnly 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


27 


for “ Somnus,” sending up a card at the same time on 
which was written “ Miriam Harz, applicant for the post of 
teacher.” He smiled and nodded knowingly. A few mo- 
ments later a grave, copper-colored servant, respectably 
clad and with an air of responsibility about him that was 
almost oppressive, invited me to follow him up the winding 
marble stair (so often trodden by the feet of Washington, 
and his Republican courts when a gracious assemblage filled 
the halls above in the time of its first occupants), and 
ushered me into a small, but lofty parlor at its summit, in 
which sat a gentleman reading the morning Journal — 
Somnus of course. 

Very wide awake indeed seemed he who affected the 
title of the god of sleep, as he arose courteously from his 
chair, still holding his paper in one hand and waved me to 
a seat on the worn horse-hair sofa between the windows. 
He was a tall, thin, sallow gentleman of middle age, with a 
hooked nose and a certain air of distinction about him in 
contrast with his singular homeliness. 

“ Miss Harz ?” he observed, interrogatively, glancing at 
the card on the mantel-shelf, near which he had been sit- 
ting over an unseasonable, smouldering coal fire. 

I bowed affirmatively for all reply. 

“And I,” he said, “am Prosper Lavigne, of the ' Less- 
durneer” settlement, (for thus he pronounced this angli- 
cized French name) Maurice County, Georgia,” with an air 
that seemed to say, “ You have heard of me of course ; ” and 
again I bowed, as my only alternative. 

“ Lay off* your bonnet if you please ; I would like to see 
the shape of your head, before proceeding farther ; mine, 
you see, is an ill-balanced affair,” smiling quizzically, in his 
effort to be condescending, perhaps. “ This is a mere 
business transaction,” seeing that I hesitated to comply, 
“ and your phrenological developments must atone for my 
deficiencies, or all will go wrong at once at Beauseincourt. 
But do as you like ; now that you have thrown back your 
veil, I can see that the brow is a good one. That will 
suffice ; I will take the moral qualities on trust for the pres- 
ent. Women as a class are moral.” Then after a pause, 
“ My wife is wholly occupied with her domestic and per- 
sonal affairs you must understand. When we are at home 
much will devolve on you, that is if we suit one another, 
which is I fear dubious. Of course it requires two to make 


28 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


a bargain. That reminds me, I have not heard the sound 
of your voice yet. Iam much governed by intonation in 
my estimates of people, and usually form a perfect opinion 
of every one at first sight. Be so good as to let me hear 
you read / 7 and he handed me the morning paper formally. 
“ Be good enough to read this extract, for instance, aloud ; 77 
indicating it with his long, lithe fore-finger. “ Observe, I 
am ail attention / 7 

It was a selection from one of Mr. Clay’s last speeches. 
I did as he requested, without hesitation. 

“ People trot out horses and negroes when they wish to 
purchase ; why not governesses ? 77 I questioned humbly. 
“He did well to ask no references, his examination is thor- 
ough I perceive / 7 I pursued mentally, and I laid the paper 
down, half amused, half provoked. When I had finished, 
he was gazingat me open-mouthed, — no unusual thing with 
him as I found later, — and was silent for a few moments. 

“Splendid! admirable ! 77 he exclaimed, suddenly; “both 
voice and elocution perfect ! You possess the greatest of 
all accomplishments, Madam — next to conversational ex- 
cellence. Allow me to congratulate you / 7 rising to his feet 
and bowing low, then seating himself again in a deliberate 
way, all his own. “ Music is a mockery compared to such 
reading ! As well set a Jew’s-harp against the winds of 
heaven ! You understand my meaning, of course ; it is not 
precisely that, however. Now let us converse a little ; 77 and 
he waved his hand. 

“The advertisement did not refer to this as an absolute 
condition I believe / 7 I retorted, somewhat indignantly, 
flushing hotly as I spoke. 

“ I really cannot converse to order ; I am a person of 
moods, and do not always feel like talking at all ; 77 and I 
rose and prepared to draw down my veil, take up my par- 
asol and depart in lofty dudgeon. 

“ I like you none the worse for a proper exhibition of 
spirit / 7 he said, nodding kindly and settling himself once 
more to his paper composedly. “Sit still, Miss Harz — 
compose yourself by the time Madam Lavigne comes in, or 
she may think you high-tempered, and I am sure you are 
nothing of the kind, — only very properly proud. There, 
now, that is right; you seem to be a very sensible, well- 
conditioned young person indeed, — and I think you will 
suit ; you are the tenth since yesterday morning / 7 smiling 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


29 


and bowing blandly, “ and the only one that could read in- 
telligibly. Elocution, you see, is my hobby. I forgot to 
say,” looking up from his paper after a pause, “ the salary 
is six hundred dollars a year for a lady of your merit — not 
enough, perhaps, but quite as much as we can afford to give. 
This I call a modicum.” 

“ It is not very important, ” I remarked, “ what I receive 
in the way of money, so that I am at no expense beyond my 
clothing and other personal outlays, and that I find myself 
well situated. My engagement in no case will extend be- 
yond a year. You have your peculiarities, I see, and I 
have mine ; the question is, might they not jar occasionally; ” 

“ Oh, never, never! 1 noblesse oblige ’ you know,” with a 
wave of the hand both lofty and urbane. “ I hope I shall 
know how to treat a lady and a teacher, both in one, rare 
as the thing is to be sure, and a member of my household at 
the same time. Besides that, I shall have very little to do 
with you indeed, very little. Just now it is different. We 
are coming to terms. We have not made them, however, 
yet. I always save my wife this trouble, if possible. Ah ! 
there she comes !” rising and rubbing his hands, “ now all 
shall be arranged.” 

A mild, ladylike looking woman emerged from an adjoin- 
ing chamber as he was speaking. She was somewhat elab- 
orately dressed for that early hour, and was followed by a 
stream of pale, pretty little girls. 

“ Madame Lavigne,” he said, bowing ceremoniously, 
“permit me to introduce to you Miss Miriam Harz,” hesi- 
tating a moment and reading the name slowly from the card 
once more, as if to reassure himself. A candidate again, 
for the position of instructress at Beauseincourt. Say how 
do you like her looks?” firing off this last question with 
startling abruptness. 

I had come to the conclusion by this time that Mr. La- 
vigne was decidedly as eccentric as his advertisement, and 
that his vagaries and personalities were not worth minding 
or estimating in the consideration in question. So when 
Madame Lavigne replied to his sudden question, “Oh, very, 
very much indeed ! ” and held out her kind hand to me, I 
took it without misgiving, and the first glance we inter- 
changed contained freemasonry, and the first smile affec- 
tion. 

From that time forth Prosper Lavigne fell gracefully back 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


?>0 


into his proper position, and I talked away fluently enough 
with his “ lady,” as he sometimes in the presence of stran- 
gers pompously called his wife. In short at the end of an 
hour it was settled that I was to join them the same evening 
at their hotel, and proceed with them thence to New York, 
there to take the packet for Savannah, their first destina- 
tion, on the same night. Their plantation, they informed 
me, was more than a day’s journey by carriage conveyance, 
beyond that city, but eligibly situated for health, though 
not for productiveness, among a low range of hills known 
as the “ Lesdernier ” mountains, the name being anglicized 
into “ Lesdurneer,” with the accent on the last syllable, so 
as to metamorphose it completely to the ear, instead of 
translating it to the sense. 

“ It is a very lonesome place, though, Miss Harz, in the 
winter season especially ; mamma ought to tell you that,” 
whispered Marion, the eldest daughter, as she nestled so 
closely to me and looked so kindly in my face, that the in- 
truding thought of her unwillingness for my society was 
instantly banished. “ In the summer it is pleasant enough, 
to be sure, so many people come to their cottages in the 
hills ; but during eight months of the year we have but one 
near neighbor, and not a very social one either.” 

“ From circumstances alone unsocial, Marion,” said 
Madame Lavigne, flushing slightly. Her usual complexion 
was of a fair sallowness, common to Southern ladies. 
“ Cousin Celia is certainly devoted at heart to every one of 
us, but she cannot, you know, leave home often.” 

“Oh! I know, mamma! I only meant to keep Miss 
Harz from being disappointed.” 

“ Miss Harz has internal resources, I have no doubt,” 
rejoined Madame Lavigne ; “ and even if she had not I fear 
her duties would preclude much longing for excitement. 
It is a very onerous task you are undertaking, my dear 
young lady, certainly,” turning to me. “Five ignorant 
little Southern girls, well disposed, but imperfectly trained, 
will fill your hands to positive overflowing, I fear. You 
will find me, too, exacting sometimes. I am sure I shall 
enjoy your society whenever you choose to bestow it on me, 
and Colonel Lavigne as well ” 

To which declaration on the part of his wife, that gentle- 
man responded by laying his hand upon his breast compla- 
cently, and bowing profoundly, without rising from his 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


31 


chair or lifting his eyes from his paper, ending the ceremony 
by a flourish of his delicate cambric handkerchief and the 
exhibition at the same time of a slender, sickly, peculiarly 
shaped hand, decorated with an onyx seal ring, whereon I 
later detected an engraved vine leaf. He looked the gen- 
tleman, however, unmistakably plain and peculiar as his 
personal appearance was, and pompous and pretentious as 
so far seemed his manner. 

If words could do the work of the photograph, I should 
like to show him to my reader as he appeared to me on that 
first interview, though later his whole aspect underwent a 
change in my sight, reflected from the cavernous depths 
within, so that what seemed somewhat ludicrous in the be- 
ginning, came to be solemnly serious, and even sophistically 
tragical and direfully awful from association of ideas on 
later acquaintance. 

We have all, more or less, witnessed this phenomenon of 
transformation in some familiar aspect, either through love 
or hatred, respect or contempt, or admiration, until we find 
ourselves marvelling at past impressions received, in igno- 
rance of the truth, in the commencement of our observa- 
tions, and the very features undergo a change. I remember 
that Mr. Lavigne struck me on that occasion as a superfi- 
cial man in every way, but kindly, courteous and vivacious, 
though certainly eccentric and somewhat absurd. One 
would have supposed him even a flippant, whimsical person, 
seen casually, but on later examination the droop of his 
eyelids and underlip, and the depressed corners of his 
mouth, gave to the close observer a surer indication of his 
melancholy character. The shape of his narrow, conical, 
and somewhat elegantly placed head, denoted an inclination 
to fanaticism which had been skilfully combated by a per- 
fectly sceptical education, so as to turn this stream of char- 
acter into strange channels. Hobbeyism was his infirmity, 
perhaps, and he was essentially a man of one idea at a 
time. 

The word “ odd,” applied to him peculiarly, which is in 
itself a social ostracism when attached to any one, and 
raises a barrier at once between a man and his fellow bipeds, 
that not even superiority could surpass. ITe was emphati- 
cally a tawny man as to coloring — hair, skin and eyes, 
being pretty much of the hue of the “ ribbed sea-sand 
yet there were vestiges about him of an originally fair com* 


32 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


plexion. His wrists and temples and the summit of his 
brow were white as those of a women ; his face was long, 
lank, and cadaverous ; his eyes shone with a clear, amber 
and steady light, and wore usually an abstacted expression. 
They were subject on occasions to a peculiar warp of the 
pupils, however, which I have perceived in no other orbs. 
Iiis hair was singularly shaggy and picturesque in its 
tawny grayness and wavy, wiry length ; and above his 
eyes, his heavy brows, of the same texture and color, 
seemed to make a pent-house, from which the high, pale, 
homely brow receded gradually. His profile was aquiline 
to absolute grotesqueness. The idea of Punchinello pre- 
sented itself irresistibly at the sight of his parrot-like nose 
and suddenly upturned chin, short and cleft. His gait was 
as peculiar as his countenance and manner. He glided in 
walking, carrying himself erectly with his arms pinned 
closely to his sides. He was altogether so extraordinary 
looking, that I felt myself staring almost rudely at him on 
our first interview. Yet his dress was in no way remark- 
able except for an air of old-fashioned and speckless neat- 
ness. Don Quixote might have resembled him had he been 
modernized. 

Madam Lavigne, was a pretty and well preserved woman 
of about thirty-five, a fair brunette with traces of beauty, 
to whom most of her daughters bore a close resemblance. 
One alone, the plainest of the band, presented a modified re- 
semblance of “ Colonel Lavigne,” as his wife called him, with 
scrupulous punctilio, “ Count Prosper,” as she told me his 
neighbors dubbed him. One son, the eldest of their family, 
they spoke of as the pride of their hearts, even on that first 
interview. He was in the Navy they told me, and conse- 
quently much from home. They regretted this for many 
reasons, and among others on my account. He was so 
genial, so companionable, their own dear Walter — “ Such a 
delightful fellow,” as his sister Madge declared, exultingly 
— the second of this band of sisters, and, as far as I could 
observe on first acquaintance, the brightest. Marion, the 
elder, was extremely pretty and gentle, and Bertie, the 
third, taciturn and unprepossessing, yet evidently sensible. 
She it was who alone resembled her father. 

Fortunately for the uninterrupted success of my scheme, 
Evelyn had one of her “ sick turns ” that day, and remained 
closely shut up in her room. At one o'clock, I summoned 
Franklin to my chamber. 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


" 33 

“ There is a trunk ” I said, “ that I wish you to take tc 
the Mansion House, directed to the care of a * Mr. Som 
nus’ lodging there. Here is the card attached with his 
direction. Place it with his baggage. It is to go to Now- 
York, for a Miss Harz, a teacher, I believe, who has applied 
to me for assistance. But he understands all that, so you 
need not be at any trouble to explain. Be quiet, Franklin, 
in removing it, as Evelyn is very nervous to-day, and dis- 
likes noise ; and go with the drayman yourself to insure its 
safe delivery.” 

So passed my first lesson in deception ; but I schooled 
lip and eye to obedience, so that Franklin suspected nothing, 
and being a discreet servant, who never let his right hand 
know what his left was doing, especially when gold was 
deposited in one or the other palm, I was sure of silence 
on the subject, at least until after my own departure. 

Mabel and I dined tete-a-tete together at two o’clock that 
day. I had caused dinner to be served earlier than usual 
for my own convenience in Evelyn’s illness, though, indeed, 
I found it a mere form to sit at the table. How could I 
swallow a morsel of food, choked as I was with grief, while 
the fair child I worshipped sat so calmly and unconsciously 
in my sight ? 

After dinner I sought Mrs. Austin, leading Mabel by the 
hand. I had been kissing her almost wildly every foot of 
the way up stairs, and she gazed on me, I could not help 
perceiving, with a sort of fond surprise ; for it was not my 
habit to lavish such passionate caresses even on her, with- 
out occasion. 

•“lam obliged to go out now,” I said, in a broken voice, 
which I vainly tried to command. “ Take our darling Mrs. 
Austin, and keep her very safely until I come again. Prom- 
ise me this,” I added, eagerly seizing her hand, “ never lose 
sight of her for an hour.” 

“ La! Miss Miriam, what’s the use of promising for one 
afternoon, when I have taken the best of care of her all of 
her life ? You act so singularly to-day, added she,” pettishly, 
and she began to smooth Mabel’s hair grumblingly. Yet 
there was comfort in this suggestion of the past. I turned 
away without another word, murmuring blessings in my 
heart. There was no time to be lost now. 

“I was so afraid you had rued your promise, and were 
not coming,” said Marion springing forth from the door- 
way eagerly to greet me. 

2 


84 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


“ And we had forgotten to ask your address,” added 
Madam Laivgne, or we might have called for you, and saved 
you a long walk perhaps.” 

“ We should not have carried off your trunk, even if you 
had not appeared, Miss Harz,” said Colonel Lavigne, 
blandly. “ There it is, you see, distinctly labelled, on the 
baggage wagon in front,— directed to the care of “ Mr. 
Somnus, heh ? A good deal of waggery about you, I per- 
ceive, or had you forgotten my name and address ; Prosper 
Lavigne, of Beauseincourt ?” 

“No, no, I had reasons. But remember, no questions 
were to be asked ; you must wait for voluntary communi- 
cations ;” and I laughed to hide my emotion. 

“I am so glad — so glad, you are going with us,” said 
little Louey Lavigne, pressing my hand, as she sat before 
me in the carriage by Aunt Felicite. 

Colonel Lavigne and three of his daughters had been con- 
signed to another hack, Louey and her sable attendant, 
stately with her large gold ear-rings and brilliant cotton 
head-handkerchief, being inseparable accompaniments of 
his wife. 

“I have banished Colonel Lavigne, I fear,” I said, in a 
broken voice. “It would have been best forme to have 
gone with the young ladies, perhaps. Let me not sepa- 
rate you from your husband, Madam.” 

“ No, it is much best as it is,” she answered, affection- 
ately. “ Think of yourself just now, and take no charge 
until we get home. You are our guest, until then, remem- 
ber. I know it is a sad trial, to go with strangers, but you 
will find us reliable I hope ;” and she clasped my hand in 
hers and so held it until we reached the wharf. 

Tears rained down my face, beneath the friendly shelter 
of my veil ; but Madam Lavigne, with the tact of good- 
breeding, affected not to remark them. Once little Louey, 
a child of eight years old, the youngest and prettiest of all, 
leaned forward as if to soothe or question me, or peep be- 
neath my veil, but she was plucked quickly and resolutely 
back into her place, by the decorous Aunt Felicite, who 
had not lived so long with quality, without acquiring some 
delicacy of perception and behavior. 

I had commanded myself before the carriage stopped 
beside the panting steamboat, and soon we were gliding 
along the placid river, towards the point whence the rail- 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


35 


road was to carry us to our goal. At New York we found 
ourselves hurried for time to reach the packet Magnolia, 
and went directly from the depot to the quay, for embarka- 
tion. By the pilot, who left us at the Narrows, I sent back 
a few lines to Mabel, enjoining upon him with the gift of 
a piece of gold, to mail my letter on the following day, and 
.receiving his promise to do so, — one that I learned later 
had been complied with. Yet Mabel never saw this dis- 
patch. In this brief communication I promised my dear 
child that we should meet at my majority. And enjoined 
her to patience. 

“You will hear from me again before long,” I said, in 
conclusion, “and I will try and arrange some plan of cor- 
respondence. Evil people have obliged me to this step. 
Do not forget me, my darling, nor my lessons and counsel, 
and believe ever in the honor and devotion of your sister, 

Miriam. 

“Pray for me, Mabel.” 

My letter to Evelyn, without date, written on the ship and 
sent back by a returning passenger to be mailed also at New 
York as a separate venture, revealed my acquaintance with a 
portion of her duplicitj^and Mr.BasilBainerothe’s evil design. 
Knowing her superstitious nature, I promised her my forgive- 
ness instead of malediction, on two conditions alone. One of 
these was that she should not seek to trace me, since all 
effort to regain me would be fruitless — another that she 
would be kind to Mabel and to my father’s ancient servants 
until my return ; and of these last, especially to old Morton. 
That I would come again I promised her. 

I uttered no threats nor reproaches, asked no favors be- 
yond those which I had a right to demand at her hands as 
my father’s ward, (long supported by him and ever cher- 
ished with paternal tenderness,) and of the guardian of his 
child. I knew that the use of my house and furniture 
would amply compensate her for all Mabel’s expenses, 
among the principal of which would be that liberal educa- 
tion which I demanded for her as her right. I was very 
nearly twenty now, Mabel ten. There was still time to re- 
deem the past and carry out all my frustrated intentions 
after the expiration of one year of abeyance. 

Yes, I would “ stand and wait.” 


36 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


CHAPTER II. 

£¥ FTER the alternate anguish and blankness of the 
last three months of my life, there was something 
peculiarly soothing and delightful to me in our 
3 short and serene voyage. I was not troubled with 
the slightest sensation of sea-sickness, from which 
Madame Lavigne suffered, almost superstitiously, 
from the moment she was conscious of salt water, 
and far before its effects could have been supposed to have 
been actually recognized. 

She was consigned by her own request to the care of her 
husband and attendants, while I sat on deck encircled by 
my new pupils, trying to draw out the character of each in 
turn, in anticipation of my approaching duties, and smiling 
most often at the quaint remarks of the third daughter, 
Bertie, thrown in as these were from time to time, as a boy 
might stand in a fence corner and pitch a pebble occasion- 
ally into a group of peaceful fowls, each one of telling effect. 

It was a relief to me, however, to find myself face to face 
with this wondrous new aspect of nature, sometimes alone, 
when after the fashion of the young, my companions would 
withdraw simultaneously, or follow each other speedily 
in pursuit of some fresh object of interest or curiosity and 
leave me to unrestrained thought and observation. 

I enjoyed to the full, and as I believe none can enjoy 
nature but those who have keenly suffered, all the sweet, 
healing influences breathing about me. The line of Words- 
worth’s rose to my lips and I murmured it, softly, conscious 
that my own allegiance had been a faithful one. 

“ For Nature never doth betray 
The heart that loves her.*’ 

“ She repays me now,” I thought, “the universal moth- 
er,” as my heart rose rapturously to meet the soft summer 
breezes, whispering of “ India and the spice islands,” and 
the sound of the murmuring waves, washing the vessel’s side 
broke on my ear. All things interested and delighted me, 
inexpressibl}', in this new phase of life. 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


37 


The flight of the stormy petrel, tireless like that of the 
human soul, and its inexplicable tameness, bringing to mind 
the “ Albatross ” of the Ancient Mariner , ” the sight of the 
porpoise, trembling in the moonlight, (that clumsy gymnast 
of the ocean) breaking into dark fragments the solid silver 
sheen, as it appeared to the eye, about him ; the nautilus, 
so fearlessly riding the billow’s crest, with its fairy rose- 
colored sails, that it seemed spirit-guided on a path that 
endangers the stoutest argosy ; the rainbow dolphin, glit- 
tering just beneath the water, as if some queen of the sea, 
like Cleopatra in her barge, wearing attire of gold and 
purple, were approaching to pay us homage, or to exact 
tribute ; and last, not least, in fact or fancy, the huge and 
distant whale, rising to the surface to blow and spout, and 
calling to the mind accounts we read of sudden volcanic 
islands thrown up from the bosom of the “ vasty deep,” 
from which lava fountains spring perennially. All these 
things surprised and enchanted me, as though unheard of 
before, and by such realities my imagination was stirred to 
its depths. This was just the medicine my nature demand- 
ed at this time and I quaffed the healing draught eagerly. 

It was pleasant, too, to see the greeting ships go by, 
each with its light sails set, its pennons flying, its painted 
sides and fantastic figure-head, its peopled decks, and to 
hear the hoarse friendly bray of the conversational trumpets ; 
pleasant to behold the groups on our own deck, and to 
know that we were all bound together by one great tran- 
sient brotherhood of common destination and of risk and 
hope. 

Then the approach to those Southern shores, where a new 
growth and different aspect of civilization met the eye at 
every glance and step, was almost like the feeling a disem- 
bodied spirit might have (methought) when first introduced 
to another planet. Everything was very vivid to me, very 
delicious — all the more so, perhaps, from my recent escape 
from captivity. But I said little of these sensations to those 
who looked upon our transition as an affair, of course, — too 
young or too old, perhaps as these were to feel these things 
as I did, or too matter of fact ! I guarded my emotions jeal- 
ously, fearing, like Charles Lamb, more than none at all, im- 
perfect sympathy. 

Near the mouth of the Savannah river a huge cypress log 
floated out to meet us, I remember, wreathed with a para- 


38 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


siti cal vine — so recent was its severance from the parent 
trunk — that still uplifted great clusters of scarlet berries 
above the water, — drifting out to sea to perish, like some 
brilliant human hope, too rashly ventured. I thought I 
could comprehend for the first time what the feelings of Col- 
umbus must have been under similar circumstances. It 
seemed an out-stretched hand of greeting from the genius 
of this strange land — Nature’s own welcome. 

As we neared the first fort, Polaski, I heard a clear voice 
beside me say, in cheerful tones, “ The Savannah river is like 
a lady of fashion — she wears a brooch and a buckle. This 
is the first — this fort I mean, — but the real strength lies 
nearer at home, nearer her heart. Fort Jackson is our 
buckle or buckler, you know.” 

“ What a quaint idea ; where did you get it Bertie ? for 
so they call you I find. By the by, what is your unabbre- 
viated name my, love ?” 

“ Robertina, after some ancestress I suppose. You know 
we are not people of yesterday.” 

“So I have heard already. But I should have known 
this without information 1” 

She seemed well pleased. 

“ And you, what blood is yours?” she questioned, ab- 
ruptly. 

“English,” I replied. 

“I should not have judged so, — Spanish or Italian 
rather ! — You are fair, a kind of moonlight face, fair, yet 
dark — not ruddy, like most of your country people; that 
I have seen.” 

“ It is true. Just now I am unusually pale.” 

“ Pale people are so self-contained, so stern ; I have 
always remarked it. I am a little afraid of them,” she 
added with a side-long glance of the eye. 

“ But you will not fear me, Bertie, when you know me 
better, though I shall try to claim your respect, which is of 
more worth.” 

“You have it already. There is something very respect- 
able about you.” 

“Thank you, Bertie.” 

“ Oh, I mean, I mean,” catching the faint derision of my 
tone, “something to be respected, — estimable — dignified 
— venerable — there now, will that suit you?” laughing 
archly and showing beautiful teeth, which rarely revealed, 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


39 


flashed like a sword, from her otherwise plain little face. 
“You are so very aged you know,” and she shook my arm 
slightly. 

“And you, Bertie, are a strange mixture of youth and 
age, I take it. But I feel confident that we shall be fast 
friends.” 

“ There is no telling. To be frank, I have no fancy for 
Yankees ; ” and with this careless and not over courteous 
rejoinder, she bounded off to look at a nautilus that a sailor 
had just caught in a bucket for her inspection and at her 
particular request. Over this she hung delighted. 

Glimpses like these sometimes let the weather-wise ob- 
server very far down into character. She interested me 
from the time of this brief, impatient, yet suggestive conver- 
sation. 

Scarcely twenty miles from the ocean, lies the city, almost 
buried in its deep, umbrageous shadows. Rice fields and 
planters’ houses smile on either side of the river, through 
which glides on the swan-like ship to its destined harbor. 

The Spanish dagger and the palmetto, the Cherokee rose 
and the old field-pine, are the principal features of the flat, 
monotonous landscape, made oriental by the presence of 
troops of slaves, arrayed chiefly in a plantation livery, blue, 
or brown and white, and wearing the universal kerchief on 
the head, even when hats are added to ward off the rays of 
the burning August sun. 

It was sunset when our ship cast anchor in the harbor of 
Savannah. A few minutes later we had turned our backs 
upon its hospitable hull and were driving rapidly in the di- 
rection of the suburban residence of General Curzon. Under 
his kindly roof went by a few happy, peaceful days. Then 
again we found ourselves “en route” for the remote plan- 
tation of Colonel Lavigne ; an estate situated in the skirt of 
the first range of hills that meets the traveller after leaving 
the sea-coast and the flat, fertile lands of Georgia. 

The coach and wagon of Colonel Lavigne awaited him and 
his family when he reached Savannah ; the first, a much 
abused, yet still strong and spacious carriage, in which four 
portly persons could find ample accommodation; the last, a 
long-bodied, high-swung affair, covered with black oil cloth, 
with pendulous curtains of the same material flapping loose- 
ly about, like the ears of an elephant in fly-time. The small 
glass circular eye-holes inserted in each of these curtains, 


40 


Mini AW S MEMOIRS. 


and the quaint shape of the vehicle itself, gave it a resem- 
blance to one of the many-eyed fantastic insects, (as seen 
through a magnifying glass,) with which summer delights 
to vary her aspect and tantalize optimists. 

It possessed a slanting repository behind, I remember, 
also covered with a loose oil-cloth curtain, for the reception 
and protection of baggage, which served to confirm this 
quaint resemblance. This vehicle was called by the negroes 
the “ lumberbus,” a corruption of its original term, no 
doubt, and was dragged along — literally dragged like its 
progenitors — by four strong gray mules, of which Uncle 
Quimbo had the honor to be the driver. 

All this I learned while pleading for my delicate trunk — 
a high place in that tabernacle devoted to the more substan- 
tial luggage of the Lavignes. 

“ You see, Missy,” said Uncle Quimbo to me (an old 
white-haired, yellow-toothed, bandy-legged, and jet black, 
as well as hideously ugly servitor,) as he described the 
uses of his own particular conveyance with animated voice 
and gestures, “ you see, Missy, we brings our surplies in 
dis here lumberbus from Mauriesville, (dats our county town, 
honey 1) w’en-so-ever we gets out of sich matters, an’ we 
has to pertect ’em superciliously from de wedder ; sugars, 
and dem meltin’ sort o’ things I means ; but de principle 
part ob’ our surplies goes up home on de cotton wains from 
Savannah, wen de crops done been sont down to de bro- 
kers I 

“ I tell you what, Missy,” he continued, “ you is cum to 
de land of plenty for vittles ob de fust quality. My mistiss 
hab de bes’ going on her table, and der aint not no close- 
fisted doings at Bosincore ! We black ’uns has our coffee, 
an’ tea, an’ sugar, an’ wheaten flour of Sundays, an’ a 
plenty to eat eb’ry day ; an’ as to ’bacca, heigh, chile ! 
dere aint no master in dese settlements like ourn, for 
heavin’ out plugs to his tans’ ; an’ half dollars too, wen he 
has ’em,” he added ‘ sotto voce,’ after a pause, with a 
little shake of the head ; “ but dat aint always chile ! 
Money is scarce wid Masta, an’ he owes a heap dese days. 
Has you a quarter to spare, my pretty little Buckra Missy, 
for de poor ole man ? ” 

He stood humby before me, with his hat in his hand, his 
white head bent expectantly while I felt for the coin in my 
pocket, (happily finding it after a diligent search,) and pluck- 
ing at his wool as he received it, he turned silently away. 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


41 


The few cautious or incautious words of the old negro 
(it was hard to determine which) let in a flood of light on 
the true condition of things at Beauseincourt. But 1 had 
yet to learn how deeply the pressure of debt is felt by 
attached slaves, whose interests are identical with those of 
their masters, and how inevitably such a state of things 
exists where the product of the soil is disproportioned to 
the wants of the proprietor and to those of his workers, 
unless stern privation be the law of action. “ Masta owes 
a heap ; ” these words returned to me often very vividly 
afterwards, when opportunity for observation was afforded 
me ; and I learned through them involuntarily what skele- 
ton was contained in the closet at Beauseincourt. 

It was decided that Colonel Lavigne and four of his 
daughters, the melancholy Jura, and Sylphy, the hand- 
maiden who had come down to meet her mistress and 
assist in the cares of transportation, should take passage 
in the “ lumberbus,” along with the trunks, bags, bas- 
kets and boxes, a load that taxed the strength of the splen- 
did team of mules to their utmost. 

Madame Lavigne and myself, her nurse Felicite and 
youngest child Louey, as on a former occasion, occupied 
the carriage, driven by a pompous-looking mulatto man, 
who might have passed current at a fancy ball as the “ Mar- 
quis of Marmalade,” so showy was his person, so gaudy his 
attire, so inflated and absurd his bearing. He was the 
glass of fashion in the Lesdernicr settlement, I was in- 
formed by his mild mistress, and the air with which he 
arranged his tall, shabby hat, with its tarnished gold band, 
to one side, and drew on his tattered lemon-colored gloves, 
and handled his rusty reins, was a proof that he shared this 
opinion. I found him irresistible in his way, and from that 
time forth met with frequent food for amusement in the 
contemplation of “ King,” “ Masta's ” pet and page. 

Our first day’s journey found us dining at the house of 
one relative of Colonel Lavigne’s and sleeping at that <3f 
another. Our second led through a far more wild and 
lonely region than we had yet traversed, though still here 
and there on either side of the road might be seen fields 
covered with the staple of the country, the monarch plant, 
just beginning to boll and to hang forth as a signal of its 
royal maturity, its white, flossy banner to the summer 
winds. 


42 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


At times the roads were bordered for some distance with 
China trees, still in their summer pride of leaf and berry, 
and their stately shadows fell refreshingly above us, weary 
as we became of the eternal noonday glare and the shim- 
mering heat. 

We dined that day from the contents of baskets packed 
already with edibles, brought from Savannah — dined 
“ al Fresco ” by the side of a gurgling brook that burst out 
from the very roots, as it seemed, of a magnificent tulip 
tree, umbrageous and far-reaching as the tent of Xerxes 
himself, and glorious above any parallel in pride of blossom. 

No picnic was ever more successful, for the day was di- 
vine, to begin with, — hot but breezy, — an Oriental day, 
such as inspired the poet Mirzah or the writers of the 
Arabian Nights. A day wherein soul and body seem fused, 
so to speak, in one dream of sensuous enjoyment, one in- 
voluntary celebration of Persian rites. 

The servants withdrawing later to a clump of cotton- 
wood, did honor to what their masters had left of the re- 
past, and divided the heel-taps of Champagne bottles with 
that impartial justice known all over the world where men 
and women are the opposing candidates for a partition of 
goods. It was supposed from the slightly unsteady condi- 
tion of King during the afternoon that succeeded this colla- 
tion, that he had in some way enforced a monopoly. 

I remember how suddenly, soon after partaking of this 
refreshing luncheon, we plunged into a deep forest, follow- 
ing a devious path, rather than road among the thick and 
matted undergrowth, and gazing through the gloom up- 
wards to the lofty branches of poplar, and walnuts and syc- 
amore trees, matted together by serpentine vines that 
screened the earth below from every glimpse of sunlight. 
Plere all was eternal shadow and grayness, silence pro- 
found and deathlike, save when a paroquet screamed sud- 
denly above our heads, startled from its security, or a 
mocking bird, as if in welcome, burst out into a full, rich, 
exulting carol, like a strain of sweet, musical, rollicking 
laughter. 

Hearing this for the first time, I could not help in turn 
breaking out with the beautiful lines of Wordsworth, which 
by the substitution of one word, seemed intended for the occa- 
sion, or singularly appropriate to it. What proves a poet's 
power so well as such an impulse ? such an adaptation ? It 
was his address to the nightingale that inspired me now. 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


43 


“Oh, mocking-bird , thou surely art 
A creature of a fiery heart; 

Those notes of thine, they pierce and pierce 
Tumultuous harmony and fierce; 

Thou siug’st as if the god of wine 
Had helped thee to a valentine, 

A song in mockery and despite 
Of shades, and dews, and silent night.” 

“ Who would have thought that dear old, staid Words- 
worth could ever have written anything half so spirited, ” 
said Madame Lavigne, quaintly enough, when I had re- 
plied to her question by naming the author of these lines. 

“ Do teach me that pretty posey,” entreated little Louey ; 
which I did on the spot, ana without much difficulty, the 
words having seized on the little creature’s sensitive ear ; 
a gift which saves more than half the effort of the teacher 
where children are required to commit poetry to memory. 

It was in the evening of our second day’s journey, that 
we gained the confines of the estate of “ Beauseincourt,” 
after ascending a gradual slope of miles. The massive gate 
of entrance was unclosed with some difficulty, and not 
without delay, evidently vexatious to the master. We 
found ourselves, £TOr passing through its iron leaves, wind- 
ing along a ^|rrow and weed-grown road for more than a 
mile beneath *the dense overhanging branches of the stately 
forest trees that completely shadowed this portion of the 
domain ; a road that widened and cleared, however, as it 
swept finally to a circle before the mansion. It loomed up 
before us suddenly from impending shadows, that home of 
the Lavignes — theirs for more than a century, which is 
with us the lifetime of a nation. Gray and gaunt, lofty 
and neglected-looking, yet singularly picturesque, it met 
our gaze ; its steep slate roof, pointed in many gables, en- 
livened with dormer windows, which glistened, as if com- 
posed of stained glass, in the light of the setting sun ; a 
light which reached no farther down, for shadows deep, 
broad, and perhaps ominous, brooded forevermore at the 
base of the l^ise of Beauseincourt.. 

The front was plain to monotony, relieved only by the 
small out-jutting balconies of stone, each surrounded by a 
marble balustrading, (and supporting a gigantic and some- 
times ruinous urn of the same material), on every one of 
which a long, narrow casement opened from the room with- 
in, thus securing a sort of out-doors privacy to the occu- 
pants of the several apartments. 


44 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


The house had been scrupulously modelled after the Chat- 
eau in Dauphiny, from which the family of Prosper Lavigne, 
the builder and first American progenitor of the present oc- 
cupant, had been expelled by the revocation of the Edict 
of Nantes, so fatal to the hopes of the Huguenots. 

The difficulty of obtaining stone for the whole edifice had 
caused him to compromise with stucco over brick (the soft, 
ill baked, yellowish brick of that country) ; and as this 
outer coating had fallen away in patches here and there, 
yielding to the dampness of the climate, the true material 
below glared forth like a Gipsy’s tawny skin beneath his 
tattered gray gaberdine. The only reasonable hope of uni- 
formity now seemed to be that the stucco coat might peal 
off or crumble away altogether, and the house thus be left 
in its primitive nakedness, like an Indian Chief arrayed for 
battle with his ochra on. The present effect was singularly 
forlorn and even grotesque. 

A flight of broad stone steps, narrowing towards the sum- 
mit, led to the high, quaint folding-door of entrance, which 
opened in turn on a large square hall Jjesselated in wood, 
whence sprang, to one side, a magniRbnt winding stair, 
inlaid in the same elaborate fashion. Thi^graceful stair- 
way, a feature so pleasing and characteristic, ever, in do- 
mestic architecture, led to and was surrounded by an upper 
gallery, (leaving a circular space open to the roof above,) on 
which the doors of the several chambers in this part of the 
building gave, so as to produce an almost Moorish light- 
ness and elegance of effect. 

The skylight itself, which had once poured softened radi- 
ance from its crystal circles on the lower stories, was now 
pretty nearly fastened up with substitutes of wood, so that 
three or four dull eyes of glass, crusted wijffi dust, alone re- 
mained to glare sullenly on the scene below and bear reluc- 
tant witness of departed glory. 

With the exception, however, of that dusty and dusky 
skylight, unapproachable by mop or broom,' ^he house was 
kept with a rigid order and scrupulous neatness, which ad- 
ded to, rather than took away from, its details of frugality 
aud decayed prosperity, — the last chiefly observable in 
furniture of quaint and ancient forms, preserved with the 
utmost care and economy, even to the darning in colored 
silks of the faded tapestry chair coverings, which it was the 
boast of their owners had never been replaced since the 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


45 


time of the first Prosper Lavigne, the builder of Beausein- 
court. 

From the hall of entrance, doors opened on either hand 
into large square apartments, many windowed and lofty, 
severally used as state, drawing and dining-room. These 
saloons were scantily furnished, chiefly with high-backed, 
comfortless, and quaintly carved oaken chairs. Long, nar- 
row mirrors set in frames of ebony, and beaufets of the same 
material, varied with a faint scattering of modern cabinet 
work, in strange contrast with the prevailing antique forms, 
completed their sparse adornments. 

The floors were bare, and waxed to a slippery polish and 
mellow colour ; and around these ran a deep and elaborate 
border of parquet work, or wood mosaic in black and buff, 
singularly elegant to my fancy. 

A wide corridor, sweeping laterally across the house 
behind these two apartments, with windows at either end, 
gave access to a sitting-room and breakfast-room beyond, 
divided by a square central hall, like the large rooms in 
front, save that this entry contained no stairway, and was 
covered over head instead of being open to the roof. Here 
ended the original structure of Beauseincourt. 

To this primitive dwelling* however, a wealthy successor 
had added two ells, jutting out about half their width, be- 
yond the breadth of the edifice, and running directly back, 
to a much greater extent, so as to enclose between them a 
narrow court-yard. These ells were bordered, like the rear 
of the house, with long, low galleries, which were also re- 
peated above stairs — an infinite protection from sun and 
storm. This portion of the establishment was much less in 
height, however, than the original edifice ; not only because 
the ceilings were lower, but owing to the existence of the 
additional story (the attic lit with Dormer windows) that 
crowned the principal structure. 

In one of these unpretending ells, the longer one, was sit- 
uated the large, low-roofed library, with its windows to the 
floor, opening on the surrounding galleries, and with its 
huge oaken book-cases, literally crammed with volumes, 
filling all spaces, save those of outlet. A side hall and 
stairway led to the rooms above it, the apartments appro- 
priated to my use and that of the elder daughters of the 
house. These also, as I have intimated, opened on porticos, 
that possessed the advantage of strict privacy. 


46 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


In the lesser ell, — tor the house presented in the rear 
something’ the shape of the capital letter F, though without 
the central projection, — the pantries and offices of the house 
were situated, and above these were small chambers, re- 
served chiefly for the uses of single gentlemen. These 
bachelor apartments were also accessible by means of a sep- 
arate stairway, a convenience not to be too highly appreci- 
ated where strangers are concerned. 

In the centre of the court-yard, which was paved with 
slabs of soft stone, cracked in many places, and, notwith- 
standing all efforts to the contrary, frequently grass-grown, 
was an immense cistern, above which a square, windowless 
building with a four sided roof, was erected, raised on brick 
piles five or six feet above the ground, and alone accessible 
by means of rickety wooden steps. This was the plantation 
store-room, of which the master kept the key, which, in my 
simplicity of ignorance and credulity of southern horrors, I 
had at first believed, from the appearance of the massive lock 
and chain that secured its opening, to have served as a 
negro jail or place of punishment. 

I was relieved to find myself in error; no place of this 
sort existed at Beauseincourt — no slave belonging there 
knew more than the theory of cruelty. 

Beneath this frame edifice and around the ample cistern 
reserved for drinking water, and filled only with winter 
rains, were ranged a number of porous earthern jars, four or 
five feet in height, called evaporators, which, being envel- 
oped with coarse cotton cloths, it was the duty of certain 
sable imps to keep constantly moistened, by means of a hose 
connected with the cistern pump. 

Through the means of this contrivance, cool water, pure, 
and limpid, was to be had in summer and winter, by night or 
day, at Beauseincourt ; aud to this systematic arrangement 
was attributable (at least so Colonel Lavigne fully believed) 
the good health of his household, which, in that region of 
miasma, was proverbial. 

But that which more than all proved interesting to me 
about this singular Hygean temple, even if repulsive at the 
same time, was the presence of a monstrous bear, which 
chained to a post, kept up its unceasing peregrinations, like 
an unquiet spirit, over the damp brick pavement among the 
water jars, drinking as often as he listed, from one of them, 
which was left uncovered for the purpose, and roaring hor- 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


47 


ribly at seasons. This creature was the pet of his owner, 
who called him “ Mumbo Jumbo,” and suffered from his 
Ursaship familiarities such as no mortal dog or man, would 
have dared to offer him. 

Reared on his hind legs, and in this attitude a head and 
shoulders taller than his master, I have seen him a hundred 
times with his huge paws resting on the shoulders of Col- 
onel Lavigne, while he gaped above him open-mouthed, 
his great tusk-like teeth exposed, his enormous red tongue 
dangling so as to touch the tawny hair beneath it. My 
blood ran cold on every repetition of this experiment, for 
such I felt it to be, in spite of its frequent success. “ The 
beast has only to choose to give one snap ” I thought, “ and 
all will be over.” What sane man could conscientiously so 
exposfc himself to unnecessary danger ? And yet, is this 
the person to encounter a wild beast fearlessly, and slay 
him sword in hand, were the lives of his whole family at 
stake ? That would be courage. This is sheer rashness 
and vanity, begetting an overweening confidence.” 

I found myself already engaged in the study of Colonel 
Prosper Lavigne — an uprofitable one as shall be seen ; yet 
as he had promised me on our first acquaintance, we had 
“ very little indeed to do with one another,” which proved 
a relief to me, I confess. There were whole days during 
which he addressed to me not one word beyond the mere 
civilities consequent upon his position at the head of his 
table ; times when he seemed to ignore my presence and 
existence altogether. 

When not walking or riding over his estate, Colonel La- 
vigne passed much of his time alone in his library, a rare 
if not splendid one, and as his hours were regular, it was 
easy to avoid intrusion on his solitude, even while enjoying 
his books. To the perusal of these, inconsistent as they 
were in size, color, material, binding — truly a Falstaffian 
regiment of learning — all were welcomed in his own ab- 
sence from their presence. He was devoted to his wife's 
society, and generally sat an hour or two of each day in her 
apartment, talking with her confidentially. 

It was only in the evening that the family circle was 
complete, and this was chiefly passed in games, or readings 
of poetry, or Shakespeare’s tragedies, especially of the last, 
of which he was almost passionately fond ; inconsistently so, 
it seemed to my mind, other tastes considered. 


48 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


I knew from the first that he intended to me no disre- 
spect by his frequent silence and forgetfulness of my pres- 
ence, since he treated his daughters very frequently in the 
same manner, when his fits of absence enveloped him. At 
times he was urbane, courteous, talkative, though usually 
tedious to me from his old-fashioned mannerism and eccen- 
tricity of expression ; a man, however, with a vein of genius 
indisputably underlying much that was common-place and 
even disagreeable. 

The child who resembled him most, was the one I have 
already spoken of as Bertie or Robertina ; and yet to admit 
the resemblance seemed to be doing her injustice, plain as 
I thought her on earlier acquaintance. As 1 knew her 
better, her features acquired for me a strange interest and 
even beauty, denied to them on first inspection. Her nose 
and chin though firmly marked, were delicate ; her face a 
pure oval, that rarest perfection ; her skin of a fine clear 
sallowness, relieved at times by a flush that was very be- 
coming ; her tawny hair was fine in its texture, and pictur- 
esque in its waving, careless grace, and promised great 
luxuriance and even beauty ; her opaline eyes were large 
and lucid, like her fathers, without the occasional warp 
and quiver that distorted his pupils under any phase of ex- 
citement ; and her brow was truly noble, as was the fine 
straight setting of her eyebrows, placed upon ridges that 
indicated the remarkable preeminence of her perceptive 
faculties. Yet withal, she could not with any justice have 
been called even pretty. Unformed and thin, she was at 
fourteen still a mere child in appearance, and in many re- 
spects essentially child-like. But her soul seemed a falcon 
that could be thrown oft’ as freely from her body as the quar- 
ry from the wrist of the sportsman, and soar as wholly apart 
from common surroundings. This child stood alone in the 
family at gaze, as it were, at the sisterly couples on either 
hand, Marion and Madge, Laura and Louey, who were per- 
fectly paired, both by age and congeniality. 

Bertie, the one isolated figure in the group, was of a dif- 
ferent temperament from any of the others ; not half so 
lovely in temper or appearance, not as docile a student, 
yet above and beyond all the rest in feeling, and grace, and 
comprehension. Her habits were quaint and peculiar, and 
she was, so to speak, of a strangely precarious disposition, 
depending greatly on accident for her attainments and en- 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


49 


joyments ; nor could any one of those who knew her best 
at the time of my advent, form an idea of what, from one 
moment to the next, she might say or do, or when she 
would come or go, or what she would dislike or enjoy. 

Of course these peculiarities were the points of attack in 
her case, and I lost no opportunity of placing before her a 
steadier purpose and a more consistent standard of behavior 
as guides for attainment, than had yet inspired her ambition ; 
and though my teachings might have been more in precept 
than in practice, I had the satisfaction, before very long, of 
seeing her profit by them to some extent. 

Just in proportion as I became a necessity of her being, 
did she draw mo£e and more near to me ; and to my own 
surprise, I found myself in the course of a few weeks, more 
deeply bound up in this homely child than in her far more 
fortunate and beautiful sisters. 

At her own entreaty I permitted her to sleep in my cham- 
ber, which, by agreement, was to have been unshared ; and 
this in itself wa3 a near approach to intimacy. From her 
little couch in the corner, she would come to me in the 
dead of night, asking earnestly to know the cause of my 
piteous groans, and who she was on whom I called by the 
name of “Mabel,” to find shelter in my arms. Then, as 
the tears rained down my face, she would press my brow 
and hold my hand in mute and unquestioning sympathy, such 
as none but young natures are susceptible of. Her curi- 
osity, though repressed, was keen, however, but as yet I 
dared not gratify it ; for I could feel no safety save in my 
disguise from the strong hand and cunning tongue of Basil 
Bainrothe. 

The right to confront him again fearlessly must be mine 
before I could confide my secret to the keeping of stran- 
gers, however kind or discreet these might seem to be, and 
in the meantime my heart grieved and died within me from 
anxiety" about my dear and distant one. 

No safe channel of correspondence could as yet be pointed 
out, and, so far I had fixed upon no plan whereby to obtain 
information concerning her, without compromising my own 
safety. Not even to Mr. Lodore, our revered pastor, dared 
I confide my wrongs or my place of refuge ; for I knew 
well of old his prejudice in favor of Evelyn and her relig- 
ious observances, and against me and my careless devotional 
habits and Judaic lineage. 


50 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


No one ever had so many acquaintances or so few friends 
as Miriam Montfort, and not alone from the bitter force of 
circumstances. This had been a point with Evelyn, and 
she had gained it by her manifold schemes and adroit wire- 
working. I recognized this now in my exile and desolation 
as I had never done before. 

But a spirit was fast unfolding its wings in my own 
breast, that promised to lift me above the painful neces- 
sities of my condition. For the first time in my life 1 felt 
the importance of self to self. I would be strong, resolute, 
impassible. I would put down to quietness the rebellious 
elements of my nature, struggling strongly against circum- 
stances. These would I take advantage of, as others had 
done before, and lay my hand on the crest of the billow 
rather than sink beneath it. 

Day by day this resolution strengthened and struck root, 
and those who beheld me marvelled at the new power that 
breathed about me — at the firmer footstep, the clearer 
voice, the increased brilliancy of eye and smile, the more 
ringing and responsive laugh .that evidenced its presence. 
I was learning to be independent at last, to live for the day 
alone, and at first th& self-imposed lesson was a manifest 
success. We shall see how it prospered. 


CHAPTER III. 


>®ss*jRUE to their quaint advertisement and to the gen- 
tleness of their breeding, my hosts asked no ques- 
tions as to my antecedents, but I was convinced, 
notwithstanding her enforced silence, that Madame 
Lavigne was disappointed that I did not volunta- 
rily lay my past life before her. As to Colonel 
Lavigne, I could not doubt the sincerity of his in- 
difference, manifested as this was in every way short of dis- 
courtesy, or the simplicity with which Marion and Madge 
took everything for granted in my case and dispensed with 
explanations. 

It was evident, however, to the least observant, that the 



MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


51 


place I occupied before many weeks had passed, in the con 
sideration and affection of the Mistress of Beauseincourt, 
was an enviable one, and her daughters were not slow in 
following her example, and according to me their confi- 
dence and friendship. 

Why need I repeat that the capabilities of happiness that 
had long slumbered in my repressed heart, woke to life 
under these new influences of appreciation and respect, and 
that I felt at times as if I needed the restraining hand of 
Evelyn, or the baleful eye of Basil Bainrothe, to compel me 
back to humility. 

“ You praise me too much/ 7 I said, one day, to Madam 
Lavigne ; “ 1 have never been used to affectionate commen- 
dation like yours before ; beware how you spoil your gov- 
erness ! I have been flattered, but never earnestly ap- 
proved of until now ; not, at least, since mamma and papa 
were taken from me/’ I faltered, still holding her honored 
hand in mine. Something quivered on her lips, that spoke 
out more intelligibly from her eyes, and to this unuttered 
remonstrance, I hastened to make answer, 

** Not yet — not yet! Some day I will tell you every- 
thing. Until then, trust in and strengthen me. I know 
how strange you must think my continued reserve ; this 
much believe, I pray you, that I have never done aught to 
make it necessary in the eyes of the just, or that I would 
be afraid or ashamed to tell you or any other honorable per- 
son ; nothing that I should be ashamed my dead father and 
mother themselves should know ; continue to me, then, those 
manifestations of your regard and friendship, that you have 
so far accorded me under mysterious circumstances, until 
the light shall dawn and the truth be apparent. I ask this 
humbly, for I stand alone, Madam Lavigne . ” 

“ Not alone, Miriam, while you continue to deserve my 
respect and that of my husband. He holds you in the high- 
est esteem. It is not his custom to be demonstrative . ” 

“ No, no, I see that, and am glad that it is not. It would 
oppress me, I believe, to receive more courtesy than is ex- 
tended to me. I should feel it undue to my merits, my 
position. I am a stranger still beneath your roof ; but if I 
succeed — ” 

“ Ok, you have succeeded,” she interrupted, quickly. 
“ The girls are already improving wonderfully, and are 


52 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS . 


much attached to you ; yet you do not oppress them with 
lessons, which I am truly glad of. 1 have never seen them 
so happy before in their employment.” 

“ 1 consider myself, somewhat in this arrangement, as 
well as my pupils,” I rejoined. “ The truth is, my nervous 
energy breaks down after a few hours of exertion, and I need 
relaxation. I should not be doing your children justice 
were I to instruct them one moment beyond this period. 
Teaching is a new thing to me, as a task, and I have had 
seizures of a very unpleasant character from over exertion 
before now, that I do not care to renew. The two hours of 
afternoon study, however, prepare them perfectly for the 
next morning, and they have their evenings for social recre- 
ation, which arrangement seems to me so important in a fam- 
ily situated like yours ; you parents would otherwise be con- 
demned to solitude.” 

“ Yes, we find it much the best plan, and Colonel Lavigne 
is quite a new man in spirits, since we have formed an eve- 
ning circle around him. Our dear old teacher (Major 
Favrand called him the Chinese Empire, because he declared 
that he and his subjects both stood still forever) was the 
veriest owl ! He insisted on diligent night-study, and the 
children were scattered to their rooms with a lamp or candle 
apiece, directly after supper, and he himself droned at back- 
gammon or tric-trac with Colonel Lavigne, until it came 
very near making both of them idiots. 1 was veiy much re- 
lieved when he concluded to accept a Professorship in the 
Macon Seminary, though he was an excellent man, and no 
trouble.” 

“Being a man,” I rejoined, laughing, “ Women, I know, 
are vastly more troublesome in strange houses, and I have 
been used — no matter though about that ! I shall improve, 
I hope, through the valuable lessons of example I receive 
every day from } r our self-sacrificing spirit.” 

•* My dear Miriam, you surprise me ! Colonel Lavigne 
would smile at your estimate of me. It is my turn to re- 
monstrate now about over praise. My good teacher and 
best of friends, Mr. Fairleigh, (you should see him, hear him 
preach Miriam, to form an idea of the so often misapplied 
word ' Apostolic’) always thought me self-indulgent, and 
I have been conscious myself of this besetting sin ; but I 
believe you are in earnest in what you say, only too appre- 
ciative.” 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


53 


“ No, no, Colonel Lavigne and your daughters would bear 
me out, I doubt not in my opinion, — Colonel Lavigne who 
is certainly discriminating and dispassionate.” 

“ And sweet-tempered as well,” she added. “ Now I, you 
know, am necessarily very cross, sometimes, with negroes 
and children — being only mortal, and a woman besides; 
but he is imperturbable ! Don’t you think him a very remark- 
able man, Miriam ?” turning suddenly to me, with her whole 
face abeam ! 

It was truly wonderful how this quaint, dry, homely man, 
had managed to make for himself such a nest in the hearts 
of his household, and I hesitated for a reply, not wishing to 
offend. 

“He is certainly peculiar,” I answered, after a pause ; I 
could not echo “ remarkable,” and I saw that she was dis- 
appointed. 

“ Eccentricity has always been, I believe, considered an 
evidence of genius,” she observed, with a little asperity of 
manner, “ but 1 forget, you know, you can know very little 
of Colonel Lavigne as yet ; indeed may never know him.” 

“ It is quite possible,” I replied, sententiously. 

“ And desirable, your tone would seem to say,” she re- 
joined quickly. ** The truth is, you did not like his quizzing 
you on that first day ; confess it, Miriam ? ” 

She smiled in saying this. 

“ It is true, I prefer his serious vein,” I answered ; but 
in truth, dear Madame Lavigne, I have not the least com- 
plaint to make of your husband, he is a perfect gentleman 
I think, and admirably well informed.” 

“ Oh, certainly, that has never been doubted. He made 
a great mistake in not becoming a politician, as his father 
wished him to become. The way was open for him once, 
and great influence would have been wielded in his behalf, 
but he fell into one of his fixed melancholy ways, and re- 
fused to be advised. Besides, in those days he had the 
prospect of immense wealth, and one of his favorite designs 
was to renovate and refurnish this old barbaric place, to 
which he is so devoted, and make it what it was meant to be 
in the beginning. But all this fell through, you know, when 
Armand Lavigne entailed his estate.” 

“ To tell you the truth,” she pursued, after a long sigh and 
a few moments’ pause ; “ at one time I was very much 
afraid of the consequences of this disappointment on my 


54 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


husband’s mind. There is suicide in the family,” she whig 
pered, and she shuddered slightly, paling at the very 
thought. “ But he rallied after a time, and bore it pretty 
well ; and here we are ever since, fixtures in mediocrity, 
just able to keep our heads above water and exist.” 

Thus was Uncle Quimbo’s suggestive hint verified at last! 
I could only murmur something significant of my regret ; 
but she proceeded, unheeding my embarrassment. 

“ Now you see why it is, that I always prefer to see my 
husband gay, rather than grave, although I know it makes 
him appear a little fantastic sometimes to others. The 
least shadow on his face arouses all my fears, for I know 
how very much he has to vex and oppress him. A South- 
ern planter walks on a treadmill, after he once takes on the 
harness of debt. To pause is to perish. Yes, Miss Harz, 
I will not conceal from you that my husband is fearfully 
embarrassed.” 

“ Oh, my prophetic heart, my uncle,” rose to my mind in 
derisive association with Quimbo’s insight into the true 
state of affairs, in which his own welfare was so deeply im- 
plicated. “No wonder the old slave was sad,” I reflected, 
“ Poor Uncle Quimbo ! ” 

** All we can do,” she continued, in a monotonous way 
of meek complaint peculiar to her, “ is to keep on as we 
are doing, strain our credit, and hope for a rise in cotton, 
putting off the evil day as long as possible, if we do not 
succeed in avoiding it altogether. Slaves must be fed and 
clothed, in common humanity, however unproductive their 
labor may prove. And as to getting rid of the surplus of 
mouths, as many do, we are not people of that sort ! No 
Benoit or Lavigne either, ever yet sold negroes for bread. 
It would be a sort of cannibalism, that makes one sick to 
think of. We have the feudal feeling — our people are our 
retainers, and belong to the soil.” 

“I understand your idea, Madame Lavigne, “I said 
gravely, “ but it seems to me under such circumstances it 
would be better to cut the Gordian knot at once, and break 
the tie that binds you to these vampyres. They are suck- 
ing your life’s blood, and impoverishing you and yours, 
while they only delay their own fate by remaining together. 
Why not part with some of the worst of them that the rest 
may subsist ; or give up this hermitage altogether, come 
out into the world and put shadows behind you ? ” 


MIRIAM 1 S MEMOIRS. 


55 


“ The very suggestion would render Colonel Lavigne 
desperate, 1 fear. His peculiarities are not skin-deep, 
Miriam ; would to heaven they were! But changers not 
possible to him ;” and she shook her head. 

“ Ah, that is unfortunate, but of course you know best 
how far to venture.” 

Yes, yes, indeed! no woman ever studied a husband 
more closely. His is a very complex character, yet I think 
I understand him perfectly,” and she leaned her head upon 
her hand musingly, while I surveyed her with tender in- 
terest, not unmixed with compassion. 

A thought passed through my mind then, that she might 
after all be mistaken in this so considered perfect estimate 
of her husband’s character — that there might be, deep 
lying within his nature, pitfalls that she knew nothing 
about and paradoxes that he himself scarcely knew of. 

The flash of thought was scarcely over before Madame 
Lavigne resumed speech, looking up eagerly now, as if in- 
spired by some new intention. 

“ I will relate you the whole story,” she said, 11 and then 
you shall tell me in turn what you think of the treatment 
we have received and our hard fortune. I believe I can 
depend on your interest^ Miss Harz, to hear me through, 
on your candor to sympathize with me and mine ? ” she 
spoke interogatively, pausing for a reply. 

11 Yes, surely Madame Lavigne, I should be ungrateful to 
be otherwise than interested in what concerns you; yet 
believe me, no curiosity is mingled with this sentiment. If 
these details are to cost you one pang, pray spare — ” 

My hearer ?” she interrupted, smiling. “ No, Miriam, I 
will not spare you. You are one of us ; ‘ you are in for it 
now,’ as the saying is, be it ever so tedious. So listen, while 
I recount to you the perfidy of Armand Lavigne. He was 
my husband’s uncle, thd owner of great estates, the brother 
of his father, and the occupant and rebuilder of Bellevue, 
which was at the time of his marriage to his wealthy wife, 
as old and forlorn a place as Beauseincourt. 

“ These brothers were both made widowers early, and 
were each left with one child. Our cousin Celia was the 
daughter of Armand, my husband the son of Roger Lavigne. 
There were about five years between them. For the first 
time for some generations the two estates had concentrated 
again in the hands of brothers, through intermarriages be- 


56 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


tween relatives, not profitable to detail here. Between 
these brothers themselves, there existed a very strong 
and even passionate attachment, such as is not often to be 
met with even in this close relation. It was the wish of 
their lives, that their children should be united, and the two es- 
tates thus blended into one, which would have made the fam- 
ily powerful again and my husband of course a very rich man. 

“ Difficulties grew up, however, of an unexpected nature ; 
the young people did not fancy each other, and cousin Celia 
persisted in marrying Major Victor Favrand, a handsome 
young attorney of Charleston, well born and well bred, but 
without fortune, a protege of John C. Calhoun’s. This step 
of hers of course exonerated perfectly Colonel Lavigne from 
any possible charge of disobedience or want of duty, and 
his uncle Armand seemed so to have understood matters, for 
he announced publicly his intention of dividing his property 
equally between his nephew and daughter at his own death, 
and Roger Lavigne died with this understanding. 

“ In some unexplained way, however, and after our mar- 
riage, my husband had the misfortune, I suppose, to offend 
the whimsical old despot, though how, exactly, he never 
comprehended, and at his death it was found that every 
thing he possessed was bequeathed in trust for cousin Celia 
and her children or child ; and failing this or these, it was to 
passover my husband’s head and vest in his son or sons. 

“ My poor daughters were left out on the Salic law prin- 
ciple, I suppose, so potent in France ; for although old 
Armand Lavigne could not speak one word of French him- 
self, he still maintained these extraordinary notions derived 
from his foreign descent. Now you see how Colonel Lavigue 
has been blighted.” 

“ Has your cousin Celia children ?” I asked. 

“ One only, and that” — before she replied, hesitating and 
swallowing hard, — “ an idiot. Have you never heard of her, 
Miriam ?” speaking low. 

“ Never, 1 assure you ; but being an idiot — ” 

“ Ah ! that is the crying sin of all,” she interrupted, indig- 
nantly. “ Being an idiot, she is still to inherit for her life 
that princely estate ; for the domain of Bellevue is but a 
fragment of the vast property of Armand Lavigne. His rice 
plantations yield an enormous revenue, and cousin Celia 
and Major Favrand enjoy this, while she lives. At her death, 
her husband is cut oft' entirely, except through courtesy, re- 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


57 


Bpecting which lie is to have the right to reside at Bellevue, 
or elsewhere with a suitable income, as long as the idiot 
lives ; not an hour longer. Poor Marcelline ! how much 
misery and happiness hang on her wretched existence ! ” 

“ What an unjust and unaccountable testament! Major 
Favrand on the one hand, and your husband on the other, 
seem equal sufferers.” 

“ He disliked them both equally it seems,” she continued, 
** the detestable old tyrant and hypocrite, or else in order to 
insure length of life to the idiot and wreak his spite on us in 
this manner, he has made the interest of the father coinci- 
dent with the welfare of the child, for whom he naturally 
cares very little. It is one or the other, of course, Miriam. ” 

“ But Walter, your son, will still inherit this estate in the 
fulness of time? ” 

“Yes, if he survives the idiot, not otherwise. Should he 
die early, and leave no brother, it passes out of our family 
entirely, to a relative of that wife’s who (herself a widow 
enriched by her first husband) brought his great estates to 
Armand Lavigne, — some poor crippled boy inherits, born just 
before he died, on whom he conferred by proxy, the name of 
his own father, and then adopted as his heir, and in case of 
this youth’s death before his majority, the whole estate is 
to go to found an Institution for idiots.” 

“ What a complicated affair it is ! But should Walter 
receive the estate, will he have the right to will it as he 
pleases ? ” 

“ Yes, fortunately (and it seems to have been an over- 
sight), unless he should die before he comes of age or have a 
surviving brother, in which latter case this relative would 
succeed ; he has the right of bequest. But that” she said, 
coloring slightly, “ is improbable; our children have all 
been girls, dead or living, except Walter, our pride and per- 
fection ! ” 

“That he may outlive Marcelline the idiot is my sincere, 
and, I believe, righteous prayer, dear Madame Lavigne,” I 
said, “ for the injustice of the whole proceeding is manifest. 
But then poor Major Favrand ! In case of his wife’s death, 
what would become of him ? Would Walter divide the es- 
tate ? would the law give him nothing ?” 

“Oh, with their enormous revenue, I have little doubt 
that Major Favrand is rich in his own right by this time, or 
at least he ought to be from accumulation of income, not- 


58 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS . 


withstanding his great extravagance ; his horses, his houses, 
his pictures, jewels, entertainments, his magnificent pres- 
ents to artists and actresses. Of this last, however, I assure 
you Cousin Celia does not know one syllable,” she added, 
mysteriously, with a finger on her lip and smiling eyes. 

“What a princely being! It sounds quite fabulous to 
hear of a sober-sided American citizen committing such acts 
of extravagance ! I have always before associated rice with 
great frugality. A wooden spoon and bowl or chop-sticks 
and a little Ghee ; henceforth I shall look upon it as a gold- 
en grain — a Midas-like production, answerable for many 
follies.” 

“ But he is perfectly devoted” she resumed, “ notwith- 
standing all this, to Cousin Celia, and she thinks him perfec- 
tion. He only indulges his tastes when absent from her, 
and he spends nearly all of his time now at Bellevue, to do 
him justice, since she has become so delicate. She is almost 
an angel, Miriam, and her time will be short on this earth, 
her physicians say. She has been too ill to call on you yet ; 
but you will see her later, I hope — that is, if God spares 
her ;” and she mused, shaking her head sadly. 

“ But have we not been horribly treated, and can you 
wonder at Colonel Lavigne’s morbidness on this subject?” 
she pursued, after a pause. 

1 repeated to her my convictions, but I must confess my 
chief sympathy at this moment was for the unseen and suf- 
fering mother of the poor unfortunate one. What power 
has gold to gild a sorrow like hers ? What strength is there 
in man to lift away the heavy hand of fate ? 

That night Bertie waked me from troubled sleep. She 
had crept into my bed, as she frequently did before day, 
this being her time of arousing for a few minutes out of pro- 
found slumber, and mine, it seemed, for slumberous unrest. 

“ You are moaning, again, Miss Miriam ” she said, “and 
as usual, it is Mabel you call on. Who is this Mabel who 
causes you such pain? some fairy, I believe — perhaps 
Queen Mab herself who perches on your pillow.” 

“ My little sister, Bertie, — there, be still; you surprise 
my secrets out of me by awaking and questioning me so 
suddenly.” 

“ Aye, but it is best you should wake and make a ' clean 
breast ’ of it, when you suffer so. How old is Mabel ?” very 
solemnly, composing her arms over her breast. 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


» 59 

“ Younger than yourself.” 

“ And you left her — forsook her, I suppose, Yankee fash- 
ion 1 Yes, I thought there was remorse at work or some- 
thing of that kind.” 

“ Child, you are unjust, suspicious, hard of heart. It lit- 
tle becomes your tender years.” 

“ To see the truth ?” she interrupted, vividly, “ I know, 
I know ! that always was a fault of mine, but I can’t help 
it. I wish I could not see it. I sometimes wish I was 
blind, blind, as others are,” shutting her eyes, beneath the 
lids of which slow tears were stealing, as she spoke, and 
clasping her hands closely. 

Touched by this sign of feeling, I resumed gently, 

“ You have no right to judge me so harshly, Bertie, until 
you know more. That is all I meant by my rebuke.” 

“ Yes, and I will know more,” turning upon me suddenly 
and fiercely. "Do you suppose I am going to be tormented 
in this way forever ? I will tear open your trunk — I will 
write back to the North — I will descend to any meanness 
to find out who and what you are; fori love you — love 
you. That is explanation enough.” And almost with the 
emotion of a lover avowing his passion, she threw her arms 
about me and buried her head in my bosom. 

“ Bertie, how strange, how improper, this conduct is 1 ” 
I said, gently disengaging myself from her embrace ; and, 
raising her face in my hands, I kissed her cheek. ** Poor 
child ! how you must have suffered, to feel thus 1 What 
has troubled you so, Bertie ? ” I murmured. 

" Oh nothing, very recently ; that is, I thought of course 
you had by this time heard all about it, — the bear, and all 
that. My sisters are very communicative, generally ; have 
they never told you ? ” 

“ Never, Bertie ; your references are quite incomprehen- 
sible to me.” 

“ Then let them remain so, or go to others for an explana- 
tion, and be sure and believe every word they tell you,” 
lifting a warning hand. “They know everything, of course, 
conceited wiseacres,” laughing bitterly, then turning her 
back on me with folded arms. “ Let us go to sleep now, so 
as to be fresh in the morning. This is the horrible hour, 
old Shakspeare says, ‘ when churchyards yawn, and graves 
give up their dead.’ What was that stuff you were reading 
in Hamlet yesterday ?” 


60 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


“ Never mind, Bertie ; you are quite right, we had beat 
go to sleep now ; and if those Shakspeare readings haunt 
you so, I shall entreat your parents to permit your absence.” 

“You will do no such thing. I choose to be present at 
every one of them ; they divert me ; they are as good as 
a hanging to a Yankee ! There, now, lay down no laws of 
banishment, for me, or I shall disappear some night and 
then suspicion will fall on you ! ” and again she laughed. 

“We will discuss all that in the morning. Let us sleep 
now, Bertie, if possible ; ” and I laid my hand on her arm. 

“ Well, to oblige you, I will condescend to drop into the 
arms of Murphy, as Sam Weller called old Slumber. I be- 
lieve, by-the-by, I like Samivel better than any puppet 
Dickens ever wired ; don’t you ? ” 

No answer to this singular tirade and quaint character- 
ization. 

“ Well, silence gives consent ; it is all the same as if you 
said, ‘ Yes, indeed, Bertie/ in your Yankee fashion — even 
more agreeable, indeed, because imagination always beats 
reality, mine does, at least. Yet, after all/’ after a pause, 
“ you are a glorious creature, Miriam Harz ! just as you lie 
there in your frilled cap and ruffled bed-gown ! worth twenty 
little stumpy, goggle-eyed Queen Victorias, all bedizened 
with lace and jewels, and a crown on her pillow ; and if I 
were a gentleman, I would drop the handkerchief at once 
right at your feet (you would pick it up of course). But 
I am not, unfortunately, and your chance is blue ! A Yan- 
kee governess! Why, my dear,” laughing contemptuous- 
ly, “a high-toned Southern gentleman would just as lief 
wear a pumpkin shell for a hat, as to condescend to such 
an inconsistent alliance.” 

Another suggestive, impertinent pause. 

“ Still silent I never saw such a woman in all my life. 
Hard as flint — cold as ice — meek as milk ! Good 
heavens ! what a strange compound ! Well, I shall go to 
sleep, and try to dream of Mabel — I am clairvoyant you 
know, they say — so, good-night, I shan’t utter another 
word ; ” and here the vibrant voice suddenly ceased, and 
silence gave signal for the approach of sleep, or thus, at 
least, I believed the case to be. 

Vet I awoke at daylight to see Bertie standing by the 
window, through the parted shutters of which could be 
dimly discerned the red rays of the rising sun, employed in 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


61 


gazing silently upon a miniature, which I recognized in* 
stantly as that which I now missed from my neck and 
which always lay next my heart, suspended by a fine Vene- 
tian chain. 

' I rose on my elbow with severity imprinted on my as- 
pect, prepared to rebuke her. But the calm, sweet expres- 
sion on the face of the young girl, unconscious of observa- 
tion, as shown by the clear, revealing light of morning, 
while she gazed upon the picture, and her quick exclama- 
tion of “ beautiful, beautiful ! ” as she pressed it to her lips, 
disarmed me, and I could only call her name that she might 
know she was observed. 

“ Bertie, Bertie ! ” I said sharply at last, for to my sur- 
prise she manifested no embarrassment, but coming to my 
side replaced the portrait in my hand, with a kiss and a 
kind “ good-morning.” 

“You see I have done more than dream about your 
Mabel,” she remarked, “ I have seen her face to face, and 
she is truly an angel. How I wish 1 were one half as 
beautiful, one half as good,” — and she sighed, — “ as your 
lovely sister.” 

“You might at least, Bertie, have waited until I awoke 
before looking at this miniature. To unclasp it from my neck 
while I lay sleeping, was not what I would have expected 
of you ; this was an advantage that you should never have 
taken ; I am seriously offended.” 

“ But I did not do this — indeed I did not, Miss Miri- 
am ! ” she exclaimed, eagerly, “ on my honor as a Southern 
lady I did not,” and her small and slender frame was drawn 
to its utmost height as she spoke, her hand placed on her 
heaving, childlike bosom, while her flushed cheek and kin- 
dling eye gave evidence of earnest excitement. 

“ That is enough, Bertie,” I made answer, scarcely for- 
bearing a smile at her tragic pose ; “ but tell me how it 
happened to be exposed ! Was it beside me on the floor ? 
Where did you find it, and how did you know it to be 
Mabel ? ” 

“ Oh, for the last, the likeness is sufficient to prove it the 
face of your sister, though it is as much more beautiful than 
yours as sunlight is brighter than starlight. It seems that 
the catch of the chain had become unfastened and caught in 
the lace of the pillow-case, so that when you turned over in 
your sleep the miniature was dragged from its concealment 


62 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


and remained on the bolster. I was awake early, indeed I 
never slept at all after your treatment of me. and I saw it 
there, and determined to have a good look, while I could 
have it all to myself — for you are a perfect dragon about 
this picture, I know. Just think of your keeping it con- 
cealed all this time, as if it had been your lover ! Do tell 
me all about your Mabel, Miss Miriam. It would be such 
delight to me.” 

“ Not now, Bertie, I have reasons of my own for sup- 
pressing all traces of my family at this time from others. 
Your mother understands this, and has patience with me, 
and faith, too, I hope in the uprightness of my motives. 
You must try and share these feelings. Do you not know 
there are promises we make ourselves sometimes as bind- 
ing as those we make to others and quite as solemn ? ” 

“ Do I not know ? Oh, yes, I do know ; would to Heaven 
I did not,” she exclaimed suddenly, falling on her knees be- 
side my bed and clasping her hands over her eyes. “ My 
God, uphold me to keep all such promises ! ” she murmured 
passionately, and dropping her forehead on the mattress and 
extending her arms across it, she remained for some time 
immovable. 

I gathered her hands into my own, “ What ails you Ber- 
tie ?” I asked, tenderly. 

She raised her head. 

“ You have your reservations,” she replied, “ and I have 
mine. If you are a woman of honor, of feeling, as I believe 
you to be, don’t question me, but believe that I can keep a 
secret as well as yourself, even if another’s, — yours, for in- 
stance, were I to get hold of it accidentally.” And she rose 
and bent above me with sudden mischief sparkling in her 
eyes. “ It is time to rise, Miriam Monfort,” she exclaimed 
exultingly. “ Now, infidel, I have you on the hip.” 

“Bertie! this is unjust! unaccountable ! where did you 
get hold of that name ?” I gasped. 

“ I will tell you frankly, and hereafter will hold my peace, 
as father is forever coolly advising me to do. The min- 
iature fell out of its case, in my hand. On the back is the 
inscription, ‘Mabel to Miriam Monfort. ’ Then there is a 
lock of mixed brown and gray hair, a curl rather, with the 
words beneath, ‘The hair of Reginald Monfort, preserved by 
his daughter ; ’ ” so you see it was accident, not curiosity, 
that put me in possession of the truth. 1 never liked the 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


63 


name of Harz, I must confess, — - never thought it suited 
you, never believed it was yours, to tell the truth, for I re- 
membered at /first you did not answer to it promptly or 
freely. No one else observed this, however, I suppose, so it 
is all the same, and you need not be uneasy. Marion and 
Madge and mother are as blind as bats about things of 
this sort, and father is in a dream most of the time, dazed. 
Is he not a great oddity, Miss Miriam ? 77 carelessly, yet 
glancing at me sharply out of the corners of her great gray 
eyes, lucid as beryl stones. 

“ My dear, it is not for me, a stranger in his gate, to sit 
in judgment on your father, nor for you to make such sug- 
gestions.” 

“ I know, I know that is the propriety of the thing. As 
if people could help their thoughts, — their judgments on 
others, even if unspoken I We can be silent, though.” 

“ Understand me, Bertie, I hold you to no secrecy in this 
matter of my name. I shall not be breaking my self-made 
pledge, limited in time as it is, if you choose to discover 
and reveal my little mystery, — a matter of conscience, no 
more.” 

“ I am no robber,” she answered proudly, “ to steal your 
secret for my own purposes. I never meant to find out more 
than you chose to tell me, notwithstanding my threats when 
1 was in my ‘ King Cambyses vein/ as father calls it ; my 
fit of funny despair, rather, as I feel it to be ; something I 
cannot help, but am always ashamed of afterwards. You 
have very carefully guarded, that is plain, against detection. 
Your clothes are all marked simply ‘ Miriam ’■ and very pret- 
ty clothes they are ; and you have torn out the fly-leaf of 
every one of your books (I discovered that), and you keep 
one of them absolutely locked. 7 7 Here she glanced at me 
suspiciously. 

I was really shocked at this shameless acknowledgment 
of the regular detective system she had been practising, 
notwithstanding her disavowal of all intention of discovery, 
and I could not help interrupting her with a sudden grasp 
of the hand upon her arm, accompanied with the rebuking 
words : 

“ You amaze me, Bertie ; so young ; so quietly vigilant ! 
It is fearful.” 

“ Is it? Well, the consequence will be, I suppose, that you 
will hate me as all the rest do. I cannot help seeing, you 


64 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


know, with these two clear eyes God gave me,” placing her 
fingers on the lids as she spoke, and fixing upon my face 
glances that seemed to cut to my brain like trenchant steel. 
Never were there orbs so penetrating, so speaking, as hers, 
nor more clear and lucid ones when the right spirit prevailed. 

“ We have had enough of this melodrama,” I retorted 
coldly. “ I detest scenes. You will oblige me, Bertie La- 
vigne, by going on with your dressing, and leaving the room 
to me as soon as possible. I wish to rise.” 

“ Your Majesty shall be obeyed,” she rejoined mockingly, 
wheeling off quietly as she spoke, “ La Reine se lece ! ” 

I made her no reply, and in an incredibly short time I 
heard the door open and close softly, and had the satisfaction 
of knowing that my little tormentor was gone. 

When she came into the schoolroom that day, all memory 
of what had occurred seemed to have left her brain, and she 
was intent upon her studies with a diligence unusual to her 
temperament. We were reading French history, I remem- 
ber, and she seemed to revel in the period of Charles the 
IX. and his terrible mother, with a strange, tragic interest, 
nor did she share the enthusiasm of my other pupils for the 
gallant Henry of Navarre, nor against the Medicis. I under- 
stood this perverted fancy later, but at the time it appalled 
me. 

It chanced soon afterwards that Madame Favrand called 
at Beauseincourt, and among others inquired for me at a 
period when I was indisposed with headache, and unable 
to receive her. In speaking of this visit to me later, and the 
regret that had been expressed at my absence, Margaret 
Lavigne took occasion to descant on the merits of her Cousin 
Celia and to touch on the misfortune that shadowed her life. 

“ We never go to Bellevue,” she said, “ without sending 
her word previously that we are coming, for she has the 
most morbid dislike to having her poor idiot seen, or even 
heard, and always conceals her in another part of the house 
on such occasions. Not one of us has ever beheld her, sawe 
Bertie, and that was an accident. Did mamma never tell 
you about it ?” 

At this crisis of the conversation, a faint groan was aud- 
ible in one corner of the large saloon in which we were sit- 
ting, and the fall of a book on the waxed parquet, was 
distinctly heard, as Bertie, rising iu the shadow, fled rapidly 
out of the room with her hands before her eyes. 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


65 


“ I had no idea she was near us, ” said Madge, sorrowfully, 
u or I should never have stirred that subject, it always agi- 
tates her so frightfully. What a strange being she is, to be 
sure. She is perfectly morbid about it, and we are all for- 
bidden to refer to Marcelline in her presence. But she 
hovers around like a spirit.” 

** Be more discreet then in future, Madge. I do think 
Bertie’s nervous condition a singular one, though a stranger 
to its cause. You must avoid as far as possible encouraging 
this state of things.” 

“ Oh, she ought to be corrected of such folly,” said Madge, 
tossing her pretty head ; “ not afraid of the reality of dan- 
ger, and scared to death at mere unsightliness ! Such 
an inconsistency! I am more afraid of father’s bear than I 
could be of any human monstrosity that I knew to be per- 
fectly harmless. Yet Bertie feeds it, or sees it fed, every 
day, pretending to abhor it all the while. Did you ever 
know such a little budget of perversity and self-will in all 
your life, Miss Harz ? ” 

“ Bertie is different, Madge, in some respects, from any 
one I have ever known ; very interesting though to me for 
many reasons. I can perfectly understand, too, the differ- 
ence in the impression of horror that a natural and unnatural 
creature would make upon one’s nerves. I think I should 
feel that way myself.” 

“ Yet you are terribly afraid of the bear, too, Miss Harz. 
I can see you tremble and turn pale when father plays with 
it.” 

“ Yes, Madge, I am very cowardly with regard to wild 
animals, I confess, and never can feel the least confidence in 
their tameness or consistency. I shudder, even before caged 
serpents and tigers at a menagerie, and was once so power- 
fully magnetized by a royal lion that lay all his stately length 
behind iron bars, snapping and winking his great amber 
eyes at me, that I came near fainting against his cage, un- 
able to withdraw from it. Yet you see, last week, notwith- 
standing my terror of snakes, that when the moccason 
attacked us, I summoned resolution to kill it ; otherwise it 
must have struck Louey. You will acknowledge this was 
not exactly cowardice !” 

“ No, no, indeed, the truest courage, rather, for I saw how 
you loathed your task. It gave us all a true respect for you, 
Miss Harz. Marion and I were the cowards then. We 
thought of nothing but flight.” 

4 


66 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


** Very natural at your age ; but you see the same neces- 
sity for action does not exist with regard to your father’s 
bear, and I am unaffectedly afraid of it. I am amazed and 
fascinated at once by the rashness of Colonel Lavigne. 
Bertie’s conduct, too, with regard to it, impresses me in the 
same way. I shudder to pass the creature, yet if he were to 
attack us, we should have to summon resolution you know, 
and defend ourselves. 

u Oh, I never could in the world ! and the fate of those 
children that mocked Elijah would be mine. I should be 
eaten up alive. I was never intended by Providence to de- 
fend myself. With your permission, Miss Harz, I intend to 
depute that duty some day to another — a knightly gentle- 
man.” 

Madge was a little coquette by nature, and her thoughts 
ran much on a future of love and romance. But snow was 
not purer than her virgin heart — though certainly far colder. 


CHAPTER IV. 

plantation of Beauseincourt was of great extent, 
but impoverished by the injudicious culture of sev- 
(MfcJ eral successive generations, it yielded but scant 

f return to the planter, and was much of it “ turned 
out” as it is called in those regions, or abandoned 
to spontaneous growth. A portion of it had become 
an almost trackless jungle of pawpaws and pal- 
mettos, and a sort of chaparral of dwarf trees ; the thorn 
locust, small black oak and chinquapin shrub, being in the 
ascendancy, with occasional sprinklings of plat cedar and 
old field pine — a very scrubby assemblage. 

There was nothing imposing about this recent growth of 
trees ; but it served as effectually as a loftier one could have 
done, to shut in and narrow the view, and for a long time 
conceal from my observation, the contiguous estate of Belle- 
vue. 

The grounds of Beauseincourt, laid out amongst stately 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


67 


forest-trees, had once been of great beauty, as from the de- 
sign was still apparent, though now the once carefully kept 
roads and walks were weed-grown, and uninviting to the 
pedestrian. The copses, planted on the European plan of 
contrast of foliage, were densely matted together in many 
places, and impervious to sun or shower, and had become 
, homes for the owl and serpent. Unrestrained and over- 
grown as the once carefully kept shrubbery had become by 
neglect, the remnants of “ bosquets and allees ” were still 
discernible, and many an indestructible stone bench, or bro- 
ken urn, or mutilated statue green with exposure and coated 
with mossy rime, bore witness of departed care and opu- 
lence, beneath the interlocked “ berceaux.” 

To me it was exquisite enjoyment to roam untrammelled 
by ceremonials or observances over this luxuriant and lone- 
ly land, attended most often by a troop of young flower- 
crowned nymphs, as fair as those who clustered about 
Calypso. Their secluded lives, passed under refining influ- 
ences, had not failed to set a seal on form and feature, on 
manner and expression. 

“ There may be city maidens more brilliant and beauti- 
ful, more informed and self-possessed, more stylish and ac- 
complished, but there never were more guileless and inno- 
cent and upright natures, nor sweeter faces than belonged 
to this untutored band of Southern sisters. They were 
flowers, fostered by rain and sunshine, — not hot-house ex- 
otics forced into bloom by an artificial process. 

For the first time in my life I found myself the centre for 
respect and affection, and this impulsive homage unsealed a 
thousand springs of feeling in my own bosom and reacted 
magically on my whole nature. To me, my pupils turned 
for counsel and support, with the consent and encourage- 
ment of their parents, and every noble principle of life was 
involved in fulfilling their expectations. As I have said be- 
fore, my health, my heart, my intellect woke up beneath 
these new influences, and I, who had found the world dreary, 
possessing all the advantages of fortune and position, 
was now content in the narrow sphere to which fate had 
consigned me. All this was in the beginning, when I could 
know nothing of the snares that were to encompass me, the 
depths that lay beneath me or the Zoophyte arms of sym- 
pathy that were to drag me down. 

Early in October, Colonel and Madame Lavigne were 


68 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


obliged to go to Savannah for a week, and I was left in 
charge of their children during their absence. The house- 
keeping, being very methodical, went on perfectly well 
under the auspices of Aunt Felicite and Uncle Jura, with 
the occasional supervision of Marion, the eldest daughter, 
little more than seventeen years of age, but discreet be- 
yond her years. To me, however, the far more responsible 
task was committed of caring for the welfare in every way 
of the daughters of the house, docile and well-disposed as 
they were, with one exception. And even in this excep- 
tional case there was so much that was warm and genu- 
ine and true-hearted, that when moved to reproof, 1 was 
seldom really offended or excited. 

With Bertie I must bear, — I saw that plainly as all the 
rest did, — but I would bear in a different spirit. I deter- 
mined from the first that I would patiently endeavor to con- 
trol her for her own benefit, or endure her faults with com- 
passionate forbearance, not cold and even ill-constrained 
toleration. Marian and Madge would not for the world 
have been harsh to their younger sister ; they were essen- 
tially womanly and gentle, but they came as little as possi- 
ble in contact with her variable moods, her quaint and fear- 
less sarcasms, which never failed to hit the target right in 
the centre. She, too, like her father, whom she outwardly 
resembled (an improved and revised edition, however, in 
every way be it repeated, of the old half-worn, tawny leath- 
ern-bound volume), was to me a study and a*puzzle, one that 
unlike its precedent, perhaps, 1 would be able to make out 
in the end, or try to, let it cost what it might. 

I was not obliged to wait very long, unfortunately, for a 
partial solution of my mystery. The reticent nature un- 
folded itself beneath the hand of disease, involuntarily, as 
a storm lays open the folds of a lily to disclose the canker 
worm within. It was on the very day after the departure 
of Colonel and Madame Lavigne that I found Bertie absent 
from the schoolroom, on the plea of a slight headache, not 
unusual with her. That evening, however, she was better, 
and we took our usual walk together, after which she ate 
well and slept soundly. Indeed her ordinary slumber was 
profound beyond any normal sleep I have ever witnessed, 
great blessing that it often proved to her, and shield, as 
may appear hereafter. 

She rose early habitually, and on the following morning 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


CD 


made her toilet according to custom, before I got out of my 
bed ; and after her visit to the bath-room, stood on this oc- 
casion, I remember, in her loose wrapper, slowly brushing 
out her tawny, waving hair before the mirror in her usual 
absent fashion, when she turned suddenly to me, confronting 
me with the strange remark, — 

“ So you would not tell me what you thought of my 
father ! I have my reasons for wishing to know, however. 
You have ‘ the glance/ they say I ” 

“ What do you mean by that, Bertie ? ” 

“ Oh, the insight into others, that all people with eyes 
like yours possess. I feel that you are looking right into 
me, all the time, or trying to, but I have a little door in my 
breast that I can open or shut as I please. Do you never 
hear it croaking upon its hinges ? ” 

“ Bertie, Bertie ! what extravagance ! 77 
“ I bet my life I know what you think of father though, 
as silent as you are ! You think him a very funny, fanciful 
old gentlemen, as harmless as a beagle with his eye-teeth 
knocked out! But that is just where you are mistaken, 
Miss Miriam Monfort. He is tragical, dire, and deeper than 
the Caribbean Sea. But don’t tell mother this for the world, 
or (whispering) there would be an end to both of us, to you 
and me. She would shut us up in the schoolroom to a cer- 
tainty as old Prosper Lavigne did his wife, and starve us to 
death slowly.” 

“ Your mother is merciful, Bertie, very I think, and so 
is — ” 

I hesitated, for she approached me with uplifted, threat- 
ening brush and sparkling eyes, as if to check my expres- 
sion. 

“ Child ! child ! what do you mean ? ” I exclaimed, ar- 
resting her hand sternly ; “ are you mad ? ” 

She sat down and burst into a bitter laugh. 

“ I thought I should intimidate you. Yankees are such 
cowards,” she said, “ there let me go ; I will not repeat the 
experiment ; don’t be afraid. But you shall see what I am 
really going to do ; and as I released her hand, she seized 
the small penknife that lay open on my desk beside a half- 
made pen, and before I could stop her had stripped up the 
sleeve of her dressing-gown, baring her small, white arm. 

“ I am going to let out my Huguenot blood, you see — 
practise a little venesection, as that old quack, Doctor Du- 


70 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


rand, calls it. I shall keep every drop of my Benoit blood, 
Miss Harz, I will indeed. Don’t take the knife away ! 
You don’t know what a black stream it is, that Lavigne 
fluid. It is inky ! I shall be so much better without it — 
I shall indeed ; and then even you will learn to love and 
respect me.” 

Tears were flowing down her face now, and she seemed 
faint from her exertion or emotion, I knew not which. I 
placed my arm about her, and she leaned her head upon my 
shoulder, with closed eyes, murmuring low, as she reposed 
thus : 

“ You see he was my idol, Miss Harz, above all the rest. 
I loved him — but I found that he had feet of clay. I hate 
French people ! ” and her gray eyes, now raised to mine, 
shone with a green phosphorescent light, 11 and everything 
French, even bonnets and dresses. I would rather be a 
Chinese, and have club-feet — I would, indeed, than wear 
gaiter-boots and belong to this Huguenot aristocracy 1 I 
dare say Charles IX. and his mother, served them right 
in having them massacred 1 1 only wish old “ Biseul ” 

Prosper Lavigne had been one of them ; but he got away 
you know, and came here, and his son after his death strag- 
gled off from the rest to the wilderness, and built this fatal, 
latal place. Oh, God 1 ” covering up her eyes and shuddering, 
“oh ! you don’t know half, and never will know, and they, 
poor things, know nothing of it either, and they call me queer 
and morbid, and I pity and forgive them ; but which of 
them could have done what I have done for the preserva- 
tion of our — his honor ? ” 

“ Hush, Bertie, not another word. As you love your 
parents, respect me, yourself — fear to offend your God ! I 
have done wrong not to stop this hysterical fit earlier. If 
there is any more of this, I shall send for Doctor Durand. 
I am determined now.” 

“ Do as you please ; I am not afraid to face old Durand 
or any other Huguenot charlatan in the land. He is a good 
soul, though,” shaking her head, drearily, “in spite of his 
boasted ancestry, and rides down a great deal of his origi- 
nal wickedness, no doubt, going so fast over hill and dale. 
I, too, was something better while we were travelling and 
away from this place. But since I have returned every- 
thing has come back to me as fresh as before. I paid King 
well to feed ' Mumbo ’ while we were away, though, for 


MIRIAMS MEMOIRS, 


71 


that was all important. You see he must never be hungry,” 
whispering frightfully, “ or there's no telling what might 
become of us all. Just suppose he had been starved that 
day, instead of crammed to the throat — Oh, horror ! ” 

And again she concealed her face. 

“ But this is all nonsense — Hebrew, to you, of course, 
who know nothing at all about it,” she exclaimed, suddenly 
rising, and approaching the mirror again, where she very 
quietly resumed the brushing of her hair, leaving me inex- 
pressibly shocked. 

Yet it was not many minutes before she returned to her 
subject. 

“ Bid you ever lead a bear, Miss Harz ?”• she asked, 
turning quickly upon me just as I had folded up my note to 
Doctor Durand, which, a moment later, I gave to Sylphy, 
with whispered instructions, quietly and instantly obeyed. 

Her face was flushed and her eyes were glittering now, 
I saw, with the fierce fire of fever. 

** If not,” she continued, “ you can't tell what wild work 
it is. It requires superhuman strength, but an angel clothed 
in shining armour, aided me that day, and we dragged him 
along by his chain, while he pulled back madly all the time, 
and in this way she was spared — whom I may not name — 
and his hand,” lifting her own slender one impressively, and 
raising her flashing eyes to heaven “ left clean from the 
taint of blood. Holy Father, preseive it so I” 

The small hand fell slowly — a sudden change passed over 
the glowing face — a spasm of pain succeeded by a pallor, 
bleak as that of the grave, and but for my supporting arm, 
she must have fallen to the floor. As it was, she was quite 
unconscious for many hours. At the end of that time, Doc- 
tor Durand stood beside her bed, and pronounced her malady 
brain fever. Then began the old, old, oft renewed struggle 
between the angels of Life and Death ! 

Surely if ever a human existence was earned by prayer, 
by ministry, by vigil, it was hers who then lay ill. Those 
Southern fevers burn rapidly to their culmination. Doctor 
Durand had many patients dependent on his care ; it was 
necessary he should leave behind him in this instance a firm 
and consistent representative, and he was pleased to say he 
found me such. 

People draw very near together who are engaged in the 
same good offices, and by the bed of Bertie Lavigne, Doctor 


72 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


Durand and I struck hands. No romance is to spring from 
this avowal, believe me, my romantic reader. He was a man 
of fifty, somewhat bald and stout, and already supplied with 
a wife and goodly family of sons and daughters ; I, a woman 
whose hope had sustained shipwreck, glad to take shelter 
on any hospitable shore ; well knowing that her jewels of 
life were buried irrecoverably in the depths of the sea, and 
content to dispense with them, or any paste substitutes there- 
after. It is easy to understand a compact such as this, and 
what calm consolation it promised, on both sides, when held 
in good laith. 

From the first, Doctor Durand hoped, with the aid of good 
nurses, to be able to overcome the fever. Yet he wrote im- 
mediately to Bertie’s father and mother to return, in view of 
the very worst ; a summons which they did not receive, 
owing to a miscarriage of the mails, until after a letter had 
reached them from me announcing that their child was out 
of immediate danger. So that a week elapsed before they 
turned their faces homewards to find their daughter on the 
road to convalescence. 

When Madam Lavigne entered the sick-chamber, she 
found Bertie sitting up, propped by pillows, the top of her 
head bare, it is true, where a blister had been applied, — her 
cheek pale, her voice tremulous ; her appetite, however, 
keen, her temper querulous — “ every sign good to the eye 
of the weather-wise observer, ” as Doctor Durand remarked, 
sapiently, glancing at me, as if to include me as his confed- 
erate in the remark, “ and harbour nearly made.” 

There was a freemasonry already established between us 
two that continued uninterruptedly to the end, as shall be 
shown. But with regard to this patient over whom our na- 
tures met so kindly, there were reservations on my part too 
sacred to be laid open to his medical eyes ; there were limits 
he never passed. In the deep watches of the night, when 
the slaves upon the floor slept soundly upon their pallets, 
and Madge and Marion, at my urgency, had withdrawn to 
their quiet beds, strange revelations left those delirious lips, 
to which all that had gone before, so unintelligible once, now 
furnished a comprehensive clue. It is not here that I will 
place this discovery in the power of the reader. Step by 
step must he attain his knowledge — his conviction. It is 
enough to say that from that hour, that young Southern girl, 
slight, and sallow, and wayward as she was, took place in 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


73 


tny mind as a heroine not inferior to some who have figured 
in history for all time. Courage, and self-sacrifice and rare 
reticence, had she manifested. And if her unformed mind 
staggered beneath its burden, and sent the body it warred 
in, blind and reeling to the verge of death, I, who knew her 
secret, could only admire and marvel the more. But with 
me it was sacred, even from her own eyes, though between 
us 1 felt that it must lie forever, like a sarcophagus in which 
the dead abide peacefully and undisturbed, and about which 
the living gather, unconscious or oblivious of the skeleton 
within. 

When she was restored to health and consciousness, I saw 
that Bertie had forgotten not only the revelations of her de- 
lirium, but the wild suggestions of her feverish fancy on the 
day of her attack, and she never knew what clue of history 
she had thrown down to me in her irresponsible condition. 

The bees have a marvellous way, for creatures so merely 
instinctive, of disposing of the gigantic bee moth, that in- 
lests their hives. They can neither expel so monstrous an 
adversary with their small strength, nor, if slaughtered, bear 
without destruction to their numbers, the effluvium arising 
from his dead, decaying body ; so after stinging him to 
death by common consent, they go promptly to work and 
smear him with slime drawn from their own entrails, and 
glue him against the side of the hive he sought to desecrate, 
and hermetically seal him there, so that he becomes a stone 
excrescence, his own sarcophagus, as well as a moral and a 
warning. Thus did I promise myself it should fare with 
this ill-omened secret of poor Bertie’s, as far as I was con- 
cerned ; and it was my earnest and continued prayer that to 
her, also, God might grant the privilege of embalming it 
forever, with the vanished past, to carry out my simile. 

With his characteristic absence of mind, Colonel Lavigne 
forgot for four or five days to deliver to me a package of pa- 
pers, with which General Curzon had intrusted him. This con- 
sisted of many numbers of a local paper to which I had 
subscribed after leaving my native city, in the name of Mir- 
iam Harz — the same sheet my father had always pinned his 
faith to, and which came to me now with the aspect of an 
old familiar friend. These Journals had accumulated in the 
post-office of Savannah from a want of management on my 
part, though henceforth General Curzon had promised to for- 
ward them in order. 


74 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


It happened very opportunely that Bertie had gone out 
for her first drive on the occasion of the incursion of the 
papers, so that I had time and space to examine them after 
my own fashion, unobserved and unqestioned by my vigilant 
companion. I revelled in the advertisements that brought 
street and shop so vividly before me, and the local items 
most of all. But the sheet I had clutched so firmly a mo- 
ment before, fell noiselessly to the floor from my nerveless 
fingers after I had read one article, or notice, rather, headed 
by Editorial remarks, that arrested my attention as a snake 
charms a bird from a tree to flutter into its very jaws. 

I sat spellbound, incredulous ! Much wrong, much in- 
sult had I endured, but oh, nothing like to this before — 
nothing ! I remember how everything swam around me for 
a season — how desperate were my struggles to resist the 
coming enemy ; and having at last overcome it, by such re- 
sistance perhaps, how calmly I took up the paper again and 
read once more the maddening article, to be assured my eyes 
had not deceived me. Alas 1 alas ! when did they ever do 
this 'l 

It was a lengthy advertisement only, of which, however, I 
was the subject, prefaced as I have said, by some mild edi- 
torial remarks, enjoining attention to its requisitions, and 
professing to shed a few crocodile, newspaper tears over 
my hallucination or unhappy end. 

I, sitting at the moment in calm possession of health and 
reason and a steady purpose, read with what feelings my 
reader can well imagine, the following characteristic para- 
graphs. The date was early in September. 

“ About two weeks ago, Miriam Monfort, aged nine- 
teen, left her home suddenly and clandestinely, aided and 
abetted it is supposed, by some person or persons, inimical 
to her best interests, who are hereby adjured to come for- 
ward and by confession in part repair such participation. 
All effort to trace her steps has proved so far ineffectual on 
the part of her guardians and relatives, who stand ready to 
prove that she was at the time of her disappearance laboring 
under a distressing melancholy, caused it is supposed, by 
recent reverses, which it is barely possible may have im- 
pelled her to suicide, 

“ This idea, however, does not obtain among those who 
knew her best, her mania having assumed rather the form 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


75 


of perverse restlessness, and a wish to leave her home and 
the friends once dear to her, on whom she has of late looked 
with undue suspicion and aversion. If, however, in opposi- 
tion to our first expressed supposition, and through pretenses 
such as persons in her condition know well how to main- 
tain for a season, she should have found among strangers a 
shelter and support, her harborers are called upon, not only 
in the name of the law, but common humanity, to declare 
her place of refuge, and surrender her into the hands of her 
careful and watchful friends, most anxious as to her safety. 

“ Miriam Monfort is the daughter of the late Reginald 
Monfort, of this city, a man esteemed by all who knew him, 
and holding a proud position from the circumstances of his 
family, refinement and large fortune — the last wrecked 
since his death, in the disasters of the Pennsylvania Bank. 
This catastrophe seems to have preyed upon the mind of 
the unfortunate young lady in question, and driven her forth 
as a wanderer, with a disordered reason. 

“ Miriam Monfort is above the medium height, and well- 
proportioned. Her face is remarkable rather than beautiful. 
Her complexion is dark, clear, and usually pale ; hair and 
eyes very dark, the last large ; nose well cut and small, 
mouth medium, with a short upper lip ; teeth unusually fine ; 
smiles rarely ; voice low and harmonious ; manner grave. 

“As a painful but unmistakable guide to her identity, 
she has upon her right arm and shoulder, scars more or 
less visible from the effects of a severe burn received some 
years ago, which can be examined medically, without im- 
propriety, by any one wishing to aid the cause of humanity, 
and possessing a clue to the truth of her position from 
other circumstances . 19 


J 


This precious publication, to which the attention of all 
sympathizing Christians was called by the pious editor, was 
signed by the familiar names of those arch conspirators, 
“ Evelyn Erie ”and “ Basil Bainrothe.” 

“ Hypocrites ! felons ! ” I exclaimed aloud, as I dashed 
down the paper and set my foot upon it. “No runaway 
negro, or absconding galley slave, or penitentiary convict, 
was ever more ignominiously described ! ‘ A maniac to be 

traced by her scars ! ’ I will enter that inscription in my 
diary — my debit and credit book — after the fashion of 
ancient Italian foemen ! God knows when or how I shall 


76 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


draw my pen across it and write * cancelled/ beneath. God 
knows; but in Him I trust — the God of David, the God 
of my forefathers I Oh, sweet is vengeance ! More pre- 
cious than love, honor, hope, truth, religion ! ” 

And for a space the spirit of Esther abode within me, and 
the clash of the Hebrew cymbals resounded in my brain. 

When I was calmer, I delved through the rest of the pa- 
pers, until I reached the notice of Claude Bainrothe’s mar- 
riage to Evelyn Erie. Shelley was right ; there is but one 
thing fixed and that is mutability. So strangely do we 
change 1 Not a heart-beat gave tribute to the love of old 
days — the fire that in dying out had withered all the 
flowers of my existence, and left it blank and arid. 1 
smiled derisively at the flourishing account of the gorgeous 
ceremony, performed in church, under the auspices of some 
influential prelate, and the newspaper tribute to the proud 
descent of the lady, the prestige of the groom, as an 
attache of a national legation, and the standing of his father. 

Lower down, however, was something that smote my 
soul. Ay, the Parthian dart was there ! I saw that the 
wedding party had sailed for Havre the day after the nup- 
tials, and had taken with them my dear one. "Mr. Basil 
Bainrothe and his ward, Miss Mabel Monfort, accompanied 
the happy pair on their bridal tour, which will comprise the 
entire continent, so that their sojourn abroad will be long, 
we regret to say, etc.” 

What a sympathizing reporter ! How well he must have 
been paid for that bit of flummery in which I distinctly saw 
the master-hand 1 Yes, that shaft had sped home ; the sea 
already rolled between me and my darling, and we might 
never meet again until the portals of the grave had been 
passed by both. So far away ! Oh, even in absence to be 
near the beloved object is partial presence. I threw my 
arms before me, and clutched the air. 

“ Gone, gone ! ” I sobbed aloud. “ Oh, little sister, was ' 
I right, after all, in forsaking you ? ” 

God knows the chill of death seemed to settle slowly over 
me, as I contemplated our separation and the obstacles that 
lay between us. How cunningly was my evil genius 
working out his purposes. Even at a distance that hand of 
hate had power to fling its poisoned arrow at my heart, 
and strike me surely, though an unseen target, through the 
unerring instincts of cunning and vengeance. 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


77 


When I went, as it was necessary for me to do (for was 
I not in harness ?), to the mirror to arrange my hair for sup- 
per on that occasion, after locking away those terrible pub- 
lications, I saw, or thought I saw, how I should look when 
I should have grown old. As I stood, mechanically brush- 
ing out my locks, the expression of my face was to my own 
eyes as that of a stranger, and my features seemed collapsed 
and sunken. I scarcely knew myself. 

“ 1 will not let them kill me 1 ” I cried, passionately, as I 
turned away from my own strange aspect, as I saw it re- 
flected in the glass, and clasped my hands upon my heaving 
heart. “I will live for myself — live if only for my re- 
venge 1 Shylock was right, after all. There are insults and 
injuries which only a pound of flesh can repay, and that 
lying nearest the heart. I shall still drink ‘ Skalle/ I 
trust, from your skull, Basil Bainrothe ! ” and I laughed 
bitterly at my own absurd melodramatic bitterness. 

Oh, vain and impotent threats, figures of film instead of 
power ! How soon were you dispersed ! How darkly derisive 
proved the future of all such self-sustaining menaces ! How 
truly hath God spoken the thrilling words, “ Vengeance is 
mine, I will repay . ” How weakly boastful is mortality ! Not 
for me, not for any other suffering woman is such resolution 
possible of fulfilment, without entire annihilation of happi- 
ness, without the surrender of all that constitutes woman- 
hood and truth. 

But in those days my Judaic blood asserted itself loudly, 
and I turned for fierce consolation to the curses of David — 
the deeds of Judith and Jael — the song of Deborah! I 
lived upon such aliment as these afforded, and read, 'with a 
passion and power that gained me rapturous applause, 
some portions of Macbeth on that very evening — a play to 
which Colonel Lavigne was intensely partial, but which had 
never before awakened my own interest or sympathy. Yet 
it was not the successes of Macbeth, nor yet his subsequent 
remorse that thrilled me thus. It was the joy I felt in his 
coming punishment, the sympathy I gave to his victims and 
their avengers. In my eyes he was a common felon. 

When Malcolm says : 

“ Let us seek out some desolate shade, and there 
Weep our sad bosoms empty.” 

I felt as if another voice than mine replied in those manly, 
ringing words of Macduff: 


78 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


i 


“ Let us rather 

Hold fast the mortal sword, and like good men, 
Bestride our downfallen birthdom.” 


And again when Malcolm says : 

“ Let us make medicine of our great wrongs 
To cure this deadly grief — ” 

“ Dispute it like a man.” 

Or when the nameless “ Lord ” observed to Lenox : 


“ The son of Duncan, 

From whom this tyrant holds the due of birth, 
Lives in the English court and is received 
Of the most pious Edward with such grace 
That the malevolence of fortune nothing 
Takes from his high respect — ” 


I took these things home, and felt that my own wrongs 
and fortunes were portrayed. My enthusiasm of manner, 
however, transferred itself into the utterance of the tyrant’s 
part as well as those of his enemies and avengers, and Col- 
onel Lavigne condescended to say, when I had concluded : 

“A great actress was lost in you, Miss Harz. By Brahma ! 
with a little practice, you would be equal to Fanny Kemble, 
and perhaps the original Siddons herself.” 

I thanked him deprecatingly. 

“Oh don’t be at all modest about it,” he rejoined, “I 
never flatter, and only give you your due, which perhaps 
may be of service in biasing you, as to your future means 
of livelihood. I should think you would achieve fortune 
more rapidty on the stage than in the schoolroom. “ I see 
not why one profession or calling may not be as respectable 
as the other,” he added. “ It is only persons who stand on 
family pride, who need dislike the name of actors.” 

“ I comprehend this, believe me, perfectly,” I replied. “ I 
have never felt that I was the subject of flattery from your 
lips, since I came to Beauseincourt ; ” swelling a little at 
heart, but perfectly tranquil, as far as met the eye. 

He paid no attention to my rejoinder, seqmingly occupied 
with his own reflections ; then suddenly, and rather irrele- 
vantly asked me what scene I preferred in the tragedy we 
had just been reading. 

His cool, supercilious negligence, wholly unintentional as 
it seemed or was, always irritated me unduly, and I enjoyed 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


79 


his surprise and disappointment no little, when I replied, 
with entire truth, however, and very briefly, “That part in 
which Macduff' bears in Macbeth’s head on a pole.” After 
which sage criticism, I speedily departed, leaving him stand- 
ing in wide-eyed, open-mouthed amazement, — snuff-box in 
hand. 

“ The children's governess ” was beginning to assert 
herself, and his astonishment was unmistakable. 




BOOK SECOND. 


“ He give up his old plans I I tell you, friend, 

His soul is occupied with nothing else; 

Even in his sleep, they are his thoughts, his dreams. 

His policy is such a labyrinth, 

That many a time when I have thought myself 
Close at his side, he’s gone at once, and left me 
Ignorant of the ground where he was standing.” 

Tilts Ficcolomini. 

Will you gupss nothing? Will you spare me nothing? 

Must I go deeper ? Ay, or no 1 ” 

Paracelsus. 


“ Jesu Maria, shield her well I 
Hush, beating heart of Christabel I 
What sees she there ? 

***** 

Which, when she viewed, a vision fell 
Upon the soul of Christabel, — 

The vision of fear, the touch and pain; 

She shrunk, and shuddered, and saw again.” 

Coleridge. 

“ I will not 

Defend my father. Woe is me ! 1 cannot; 

But we are innocent. How have we fallen 
Into this circle of mishap and guilt? 
****** 

0 my foreboding bosom I even now, 

Even now ’tis here, — that icy hand of horror. 

1 am grown so timorous, every trilling noise 
Scatters my spirits, anc. announces to me 
The footstep of some messenger of evil.” 


Wallenstein, 


BOOK SECOND 


CHAPTER V. 



/^OHE winter schoolroom of Beauseincourt was the vast 
^ attic chamber extending’ over nearly the whole cen- 
tral building, lit on either side by those dormer 
windows which gave the externe of the mansion so 
picturesque an appearance ; windows which alone 
caught the sunlight, as eyes will smile sometimes 
when lips are sad and sombre. 

During the summer season, the heat of this apartment, 
owing to the slate roofing, made it unendurably warm, and 
the broad upper gallery in the ell was then instead appointed 
for my use as an academy. I was reminded of the sufferings 
of prisoners “ under the leads ” in Venice, when on some 
rare occasion, to seek a book I think, I ascended to that ex- 
tensive “ roof-oven, 7 ’ in the month of September. Yet in 
November, fires had already become necessary to make it 
comfortable, and there was question now of introducing a 
stove in that vaulted apartment, in which it was easy to im- 
agine one’s self, when seated at the study-table in its midst, 
in some vast, old convent hall in countries beyond the seas. 

A “dim, religious light ” was diffused over the room from 
the small diamond-shaped panes of glass, set in leaden 
frames in dormer windows, to each of which casements a 
short passage, terminated by a raised platform, led from the 
central chamber, and, it would be difficult to contrive a 
schoolroom in which fewer causes of outward u distraction” 
existed for the student. 

In one of these small panes, now replaced by a perforated 
iron substitute, the stove-pipe was to be inserted, as the 

( 83 ) 



84 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


builder of the Chateau of Beauseincourt had omitted to pro- 
vide a flue for such a contingency. 

The early ancestor of Colonel Lavigne had, it was said, 
made use of this extensive attic as a billiard-room, for the 
entertainment of other persecuted Huguenot gentlemen, 
or their descendants, rather, who came up occasionally 
from the lower settlements to sojourn with him in the wil- 
derness. The exercise which forms so healthful an accom- 
paniment of this noble game, had no doubt kept in circula- 
tion that eager Gallic blood of theirs, so as to make fires 
undesirable or superfluous ; and it is probable that these 
gallant representative refugees would have much preferred 
to use the small caissons terminated by dormer windows, 
for pointing out cannon, could a foe have been conjured up, 
rather than the harmless black cylinder emitting smoke 
alone, now under consideration. 

About placing this stove, which involved the safety of 
the castle, the Lord of Beauseincourt, usually so shy of ap- 
proach, now came to see in person ; or at least I supposed 
at the moment this was his errand, when I heard his pecul- 
iar step upon the threshold, and in another moment saw 
him enter the apartment. 

I was writing in that steel-clasped diary of mine, I re- 
member, the subject of Bertie’s jealous remarks, and from 
which, let me say, “ en passant/’ much of this retrospect is 
drawn, and was somewhat absorbed in my occupation, 
when I saw him pass my table on the opposite side. A 
burly terrestial globe intervening between us probably con- 
cealed me from view, as with his head averted and twirling 
a large brass key on his fingers, which he had evidently 
taken from the schoolroom door on entering, absently, as I 
supposed, after his frequent fashion, and most probably with- 
out turning it in the lock, he stalked slowly past. 

Having finished the sentence on which I was employed, 
I stole quietly to the door, book in hand, and somewhat to 
my surprise, found it really fastened. I had but one re- 
source now, to return upon my step and ask Colonel La- 
vigne, who had vanished into one of the short corridors, for 
this important key. As I approached him for this purpose, 
I heard him declaiming passionately, and paused. 

"He believes himself alone,” I thought, “and is prob- 
ably rehearsing a part for our next reading ; how very 
much he will dislike being detected in this Demosthenes- 
like proceeding ! ” 

■ ^ 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


85 


I hesitated, scarcely knowing what to do, with delicacy, 
when a few words that caught my ear determined me at 
once, and I lost no farther time in approaching his alley of 
sequestration, and requesting him to favor me with the key 
of the only door of egress, for I found myself of course a 
prisoner in his hands. 

He turned abruptly on hearing my voice, and my heart 
stood still at the sight of his altered aspect. His arms 
were folded tightly across his breast, his face was that of a 
distorted mask, from which all mobility seemed vanished. 
His warped pupils glared luridly upon me, his lips, between 
which his projecting teeth showed like a yellow line, were 
set in a grim smile, indescribably repulsive. 

“ You here ? ” he said, loftily, at last. “ How did you man- 
age to conceal yourself? I conceived myself alone, and to 
me solitude is a privilege, even in my own house.” 

“I find it such also, even in the house of the stranger,” I 
replied, coldly ; “ one not always attainable by me, and so 
I lingered here for purposes of my own. I had no expecta- 
tion of being thus intruded on. I supposed myself mis- 
tress of these premises, at least after school hours.” 

My somewhat indignant manner, my defiance of his mean 
insinuations, brought down his tone or changed his impres- 
sions, perhaps, for he said quite blandly, and with an effort 
at playfulness even, meant I saw to carry olf his embarrass- 
ment or conciliate my offended pride, — 

“ Curiosity is a Yankee trait, we all know, and you could 
not be blamed for its momentary indulgence. You heard 
my appeal, no doubt, and think me a madman, of course. 
No matter ; you could not understand my ravings, and I 
will suggest to you, quite disinterestedly, discretion on this 
and all other similar occasions. Remember the fate of 
Fatima,” and he laid his long, lithe finger on his crooked 
nose, and smiled at me just as Bluebeard himself might have 
smiled, I fancied, on a certain occasion. 

My knees shook beneath me, my flesh crawled on my bones ; 
to this weakness I confess, and I could only falter forth a 
renewed request for the key, stretching forth my hand pite- 
ously to receive it at the same time, when he advanced 
towards me with one sudden stride and with a clutch of his 
vigorous hand, drew me into the corridor and towards the 
window at which he himself had been standing, before I 
had time to resist, compelling me to ascend to the platform 
that he had vacated. 


86 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


11 Since you have heard so much, know all,” he com- 
manded ; “ your part is easy ; you have only to look and 
listen, I shall not harm a hair of your sagacious, school- 
teaching head ; so cease trembling like an aspen, and as 
your name is Miriam, you can readily imagine me, for the 
nonce, your brother prophet, looking out from afar on the 
land of promise he is destined never to reach. I am Moses, 
you see, and this is my Mount Nebo.” 

If any doubt of his insanity had existed before, it seemed 
confirmed now. A shuddering recollection of Bainrothe 
the rational flashed over my mind, — gone the next mo- 
ment ; for lunatic or not, I felt convinced that so far, Colo- 
nel Lavigne intended me no personal harm or insult, and 
my reason told me it was best, if possible, to appear un- 
daunted when in the absolute power of a maniac. Yet had 
I stood on my place of execution, with the headsman beside 
me, I could scarcely have been more terrified than during 
the scene I have related, rapidly as it passed. 

“ There,” he said, relaxing his grip on my arm, traced in 
purple bruises the next day, and pointing with his lank 
fore-finger straight across the dismantled woodland, “ what 
do you behold ? ov here, I forgot your short-sightedness, 
being city bred ; take this field-glass, which I keep always 
in readiness — -for I, who am no cockney, measure miles with 
an eagle glance sometimes, and this assists even me ; take 
it and sweep the land before you, and tell me your impres- 
sion of what your eyes embrace. Do this and I release 
you,” he added, calmly. 

I would humor him to his bent, I determined now, and 
taking the glass from his extended hand I silently and 
literally obeyed the first part of his injunction, as with a 
magic glance I swept the broad lands before me. Far away 
beyond the trees whose dense foliage had until recently 
concealed the scene now lying outspread beneath my eyes, 
I beheld a fair and beautiful domain, whose close contiguity 
I had not before suspected. I knew, indeed, that the lands 
of Bellevue bordered those of BeauseinCburt, but my im- 
pression had been, I knew not how received, that the dwell- 
ings were distant from each other by many miles. Yet 
here, within walking distance, lay the white mansion, 
^standing in the midst of stately evergreens and verdant 
lawns, that I had heard imperfectly described as the resi- 
dence of Madame Favrand. Shown by the powerful glass 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


87 


I held, I traced every detail with pre-Raphaelite distinct- 
ness. The leaves upon the great magnolia-trees quivered 
before me, and the silvery thread which marked the fountain 
springing from its basin of white marble was shivered into 
jewels by the clear light of an autumnal sun. The whole 
scene, as beheld in that translucent atmosphere and through 
that magical glass medium, was one of complete enchant- 
ment. 

“So that is Bellevue ! ” I exclaimed, still gazing spell- 
bound, and forgetting for the moment the terrors that had 
beset me. “ ‘ Bellevue/ well called the beautiful view, for 
certainly I have seen nothing lovelier in all my varied trav- 
els.” And, dropping the glass, I turned to my Mephisto- 
pheles in the enthusiasm of the moment, oblivious of my 
earlier suspicions. “ Here, take your field-glass, Colonel 
Lavigne,” I said, extending it towards him; “it is a re- 
markably fine one, and give me my schoolroom key instead, 
if you please. I have an engagement below stairs.” 

“ I will not detain you long,” he observed, quietly ; “ be 
governed by me to-day. You have read of the 'Ancient 
Mariner/ — well, I am like him, sometimes, that is all. 
I have my moods — my spells occasionally — when the per- 
son I happen upon must stand and hear. You are the 
wedding guest, you know, so you must bide my time 
though the bassoon calls you. I want to explain to you 
very briefly indeed ” — 

“ Madame Lavigne has already done that,” I interrupted, 
passionately. “ I understand all the injustice of your 
uncle’s will. I sympathize with you earnestly in the loss 
of this place. Now you must indeed spare me further de- 
tail, and let me go.” 

“You appeal to me as though I were your grim jailor, 
instead of respectful interlocutor. There, take the key : 
yet I adjure you to remain, if only for a few minutes ,* and, 
with your liberty in your own hands, I think you are too 
generous to refuse me.” 

“ Set the door open yourself, Colonel Lavigne, and I will 
hear what you have to say, not otherwise,” I rejoined, with 
a beating heart, for I had experience of that key, and had 
never been able yet to turn it in its rusty wards, huge, un- 
manageable instrument that it was, in feminine hands. 

He did as he was desired to do, at once, mutely returning 
to the window again, well pleased, unconscious of my strat- 


88 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


agem. I was still standing, perfectly reassured by this time, 
on the platform. His tall figure needed not to ascend the 
step to place his head on a level with my own ; and, leaning 
against the wall of entrance to the “ cul de sac/’ so as to 
frustrate my escape, perhaps, he delivered himself in words 
that I can never forget — in words and gestures that had all 
the deliberation and irrelevancy of a studied speech. 

“Talk of a just God, and look at my lost heritage, placed 
like the cup of Tantalus almost within my grasp 1 ” and his 
long fingers worked convulsively, — “ almost against my 
lip, as one might say, a draught of never-to-be-tasted ec- 
stasy 1 I was reared upon that hope, that delusive prom- 
ise, and by every law, human and divine, the place is mine 
and Walter’s, — it matters little which ; our interests are 
identical. No father and son were ever more united. 

“For five and twenty years, Miss Harz, I was taught to 
believe myself the future master of Bellevue. This dream 
was my bread of life ; and, even after Celia’s inopportune 
marriage, it reconciled me to wait patiently for the time 
when I should be able to rebuild the halls of my ancestors, 
and make the name of Lavigne again a power and a glory 
in the land. 

“ There were full coffers, I knew, other wide estates, and 
I could have even foregone ‘ Bellevue ’ itself, cheerfully, 
during her lifetime, had justice been accorded otherwise to 
me or mine, or have surrendered it forever had Celia Fav- 
rand been the mother of children worthy to inherit her es- 
tate or name. But then, as now, when that iniquitous will 
was framed, that hideous goblin existed, and wise physi- 
cians had foreseen that she would be the last as she was the 
first of Madame Favrand’s offspring. 

“ Thus the old man, far-seeing and acute, as none but the 
devilish old ever become, fenced about her loathsome life 
with strange previsions sure and strong. Should this 
wretch survive her mother, already doomed, he has made 
the support and even enrichment of a whole family, a low- 
born widow, formerly the wife of his overseer, and her rav- 
enous brood, coincident with the duration of this creature’s 
existence ; nay, he has enlisted Favrand himself, one of the 
most selfish and frivolous of well-intending men, in this un- 
hallowed devotion, for his liberal income passes from him 
should she die before him, as does the principal, of which 
he is only one of many trustees, at the period of his wife’s 
decease. 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


89 


“ Thus is Walter’s inheritance indefinitely postponed. I 
shall be in my grave, he an old gray-haired man, in all prob- 
ability, before it reaches him, under these previsions (or 
it may, indeed, vest only in his children), previsions, the 
dictates, as I must believe, of malice and implacable hatred 
alone.” 

Speaking in a monotonous tone, and most often with his 
eyes fixed on the ground or empty space, it was difficult 
for me to realize that I was the object of this address at all. 
Yet, at the first pause he made, the speaker evidently 
watched, with a gaze now fixed on my face, for a remark 
from my lips, indicative of attention, at least, if not pro- 
found interest. 

" It is all very bitter and hard to bear, Colonel Lavigne, 
I acknowledge, but one had as well knock one’s head 
against a stone wall as contend against the inevitable,” 
was my commonplace and unsympathizing reply. 

“ The inevitable ! ” he repeated, derisively. “ It is only 
the transcendentalists who admit such an idea at all in the 
conduct of life. I hold to the thought of Wallenstein. I 
forget who used the expression that struck me so in speak- 
ing to that deluded man, but it was Schiller’s thought of 
course. 


“‘Oh, believe me, 

In your own bosom lie your destiny’s stars.’ ” 

“Yet your favorite poet,” I rejoined, promptly; “he 
that you place above all others, says, in your chosen tra- 
gedy, — the one you helped to read only a few nights ago 
with good effect, the drama of Fate, ‘ par excellence/ and 
of so-called necessity, — 


u ‘ There’s a divinity that shapes our ends, 
ltough hew them as we may.’” 


“ There’s verse against verse, Colonel Lavigne.” 

“ Very good, very good,” he said smiling ; then sudden- 
ly glowering at me, he asked in a deep and emotional voice, 
“but how do you think he would have made the sym- 
pathies turn had Duncan been an idiot, instead of a wise, 
just, venerable king ? Do you suppose God values the 
lives of his creatures equally, and that there are no jewel- 
ler’s scales in heaven as well as on earth, wherewith to 


90 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


distinguish dross from gold ? Come, you are a sensible 
woman, — I have known few as much so in the whole course 
of my lengthy life, — tmswer me that question frankly; 
something depends on your reply perhaps.” 

“ Colonel Lavigne,” I replied, earnestly, “ I have re- 
marked that God suffers the grain seed to fall to the ground 
for man to gather, whose interest it is to preserve it, and 
throws on the wings of the wind as with his own lavish 
hand the winged seed of the thistle and dandelion, and as- 
clepias, plants despised of the husbandman, to be perpetua- 
ted and sown broadcast over the earth. I have come to 
believe from things like these, and they are to be observed 
in all of his undertakings, that his creations are universally 
dear to him, and that it is not for us to question His will 
or its utility — we who are so very limited in the nature 
of our organization. Let us bless his name for the beauti- 
ful strategem of parental love, through which so many of 
his imperfect creatures are cherished and made happy. An 
idiot is no doubt as dear to its mother’s heart through her 
compassionate mercy alone, perhaps to God himself, as ” — 

“ No sophistry if you please, Miss Harz ; anything but 
that,” he interrupted, with a menacing flash of the eye and 
an impatient waive of the hand. “You are an enthusiast, 
a dreamer, like the rest of your sex, and I have erred, I 
suppose, in believing you superior to common prejudices. 
When I have seen you interpret the masterpieces of our 
mighty Shakspeare, with a heaving breast, a flushing cheek, 
an eye of fire, I have said to myself, that is no common 
woman, though bound to common uses. I have dreamed a 
dream that can never know fulfilment — no matter what 
that dream. Ambition, power, love itself drop to noth- 
ing, it seems, in a mind as conventional as yours, when 
weighed against the claims of an incubus. You look 
amazed, but I will not explain my words, farther than to 
declare that they do not in any way aim to connect you 
with my own condition. I have a son, let me add, noble, 
young, beautiful as Apollo’s self. The wife he weds, he 
will receive from his father’s hand alone ; it is an Old World 
custom * noblesse oblige,’ you know,” with a mechanical 
bow, “ and had I found you other than you are, there might 
have been a compromise. As it is I discard the matter 
utterly and forever. Let it go like other delusions. You 
too may go with the rest, Miss Harz,” he added, sarcas- 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


91 


tically ; then turning from his post, he suffered me to pass 
on my way to liberty in courteous silence, surveying me 
as I went by him with an eye of pity, not unmixed with 
scorn, and a grim, derisive smile. 

I walked quietly to the door, opened it suddenly, then 
flew down the stairway as if pursued by an evil fiend, and 
took speedy refuge in my chamber. 

Hours afterwards, having occasion to cross the hall and 
gallery to speak with Madame Lavigne, I heard him come 
slowly down the attic stairway with that spectral tread of 
his, distinct, deliberate, measured, — the step of one who 
walks mechanically, or in somnambulic slumber. I have 
heard no other like it in all my life ; its memory thrills me 
still. 

When we met at the dinner-table, the brainsick warp 
which I had that morning first discerned in those usually 
clear and steadfast orbs had left them ; and his manner 
was as unruffled as though he had not spent many hours in 
passionate soliloquy, or in unavailing wrestle with remorse- 
less fate, or haply in bitter, silent self-conflict more unen- 
durable still. 

Late that evening he sent for me to the library. It was 
about the time, I knew, when the first instalment of my 
salary (to be paid quarterly by agreement) would fall due ; 
and I had no excuse to refuse to obey his summons. He 
motioned me to a seat before the pine-wood fire, which dif- 
fused a cheerful light and aromatic odor through the large 
apartment ; and at once began, standing as he was by the 
mantelpiece, to make some obscure apologies for his be- 
havior in the morning. These I hastened to interrupt. 

“ Let that subject drop forever, Colonel Lavigne, I re- 
quest,” I said, impatiently. “ With every disposition to 
do my duty, and earn your good opinion, I have none to 
enter into your family affairs, or share your purposes or 
plans for your children, whatever these may be. I must 
entreat, that, in future, I may be spared such painful entan- 
glement.” 

“When you see Walter,” he resumed vaguely, com- 
pletely ignoring my remarks, “you will no longer wonder 
at my partiality for the only son with whom God has ever 
blessed me. But there need be no regret on that subject. 
He is near his majority ; and after that period, should he sur- 
vive his relatives, Celia and Marcelline, he can bid defiance 


92 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


(by some strange oversight, no doubt, on the part of the 
testator) to residuary legatees. Even if a cruel Providence 
should later cut short his life, he will have it in his power 
to delegate to others of his own race his power and proper- 
ty, who would wisely use it to rebuild the fallen fortunes of 
Beauseincourt. But no, he will not die ! ” he proceeded, wav- 
ing his long arms, that reminded me when lifted of the sails 
of a windmill ; and as if spellbound by his weird persist- 
ence, I sat in my chair and listened to his words with a 
kindling interest that I could not resist any more than I 
could account for it. 

“No casualty shall ever occur to cut off his splendid ex- 
istence, — his career of unmixed enjoyment. I feel this, a 
deeply seated conviction, or else could I never bear his ab- 
sence. Besides, has it not been confirmed by experience 
and fact ? Already shipwreck has spared him ; the light- 
ning shaft has passed him by to strike one dead at his side ; 
a pistol-shot levelled at his heart by a mad sailor glanced from 
the case of his mother’s miniature, and the ball fell to the 
ground harmless ; fevers have left him unscathed, thrown 
off like water from a duck’s back, by his perfect constitu- 
tion, his unequalled organization, pure as that of a little 
child, unharmed by excess of any kind, — for he is a consist- 
ent gentleman, one of nature’s noblemen. My Walter, 
young as he is, is a diamond without flaw. 

“ When you see my son, Miss Harz, you will understand 
for the first time in your life what the Greek ideal meant, 
and you know how fastidious was the standard of that 
people. You will see the li ve materials of which they made 
their demi-gods. No bookworms those, nor dreamers ; but 
men in whose organization a perfect balance existed, of 
mind, matter, nerve, form, coloring, sense, — a combina- 
tion so exquisite, that length of days as well as keen enjoy- 
ment of life was ensured by it to the utmost. This perfec- 
tion of poise was what they typed as ‘ invulnerable ’ in 
Achilles, until the slight flaw in his heel (merely latent hu- 
manity this, of course ! ) was detected and taken advan- 
tage of ; and thus he perished. My boy reminds me of 
Homer’s heroes in their youth, — all strength, sweetness, 
courage, fire, simplicity ; and you, too, will observe this 
antique air about him when you meet, — you, who observe, 
compare, discriminate, understand, and judge, as women 
seldom do.” 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 93 

I bowed only, in answer to this tirade, — o* rather 
dropped my head. 

“ But a truce to compliment, commonplace ever, even if 
merited. Let me continue by drawing the reverse side of 
the picture — a repulsive one, I confess to me;” and he 
placed his hand across his brow and eyes, and spoke with 
drooping head as he continued his strange discourse, if it 
were not indeed a soliloquy. 

“ On the other hand, wise physicians, the same who doom 
the mother to early death, assign to the ignoble creature 
who stands between Walter and his heritage almost super- 
human powers of vitality on the opposite principle : ex- 
tremes approach each other in all cases. She, too, will live 
in her irresponsible and insensible condition, they affirm, if 
carefully cherished, to be old, old, — live as the toad lives, 
hermetically sealed in a rock, or the turtle in its cave, the 
oyster in its shell, if undisturbed, — live to be, as this new 
man Tennyson says, in his superb ‘ Locksley Hall/ 


* Older than the many-wintered crow that leads the clanging rookery home.’ 


“ What a line that is, to be sure ! what an image ! But let me 
proceed : all things embarrass, distract me,” lifting his hand 
from his brow and extending it passionately, “ live years — 
eventless, unmeaning to her — crushing, wearing, life-destroy- 
ing to us ! Unproductive of good to any human creature I I 
swear, there are times,” looking at me suddenly, with his 
warped expression, “ when I think it would be a righteous 
act to put aside this incubus, — put it aside in the most 
effectual way, you know ! ” waving his long, lithe hand 
towards the earth ; “ and if such a benefactor could be 
found, could be found— l say, such a benefactor to the 
race of Beauseincourt, I declare before God there is nothing 
that man could do, nothing that I could — but no, I do but 
jest,” he interrupted himself suddenly, folding his arms 
tightly, as he caught my astonished eyes, and stopping in 
full flight — “jest bitterly enough, perhaps,” he continued, 
“ as Diogenes might have jested, when Alexander stood be- 
tween him and his sunlight, merely to find out of what ele- 
ments his visitor was made. On this principle, no doubt, 
was the famous utterance thaj; has passed into an apothegm, 
— on this alone. They were the best friends afterwards, 
you remember, this Diogenes and King Alexander, which 


94 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


proves this speech to have been a mere experiment if in- 
deed, he had not a chill at the moment and spoke literally. ” 

I sat frozen, confounded. Of what materials was this 
man composed, who could begin a sentence with a vehe- 
ment suggestion of murder, and end it with a quaint dis- 
sertation on ancient history and an absurd travesty, — who 
could in one instant propose, the next disavow, — blow 
hot, blow cold, in the same breath, and play with passion 
as if it were his shuttlecock or soap-bubble ? I sat in be- 
wildered silence while he pursued his theme deliberately, 
discursively, after his own strange fashion. 

“ I have now set before you two lives / ’ he said, elevating, 
as if to illustrate the fact, two long, straight, slender fin- 
gers of a delicate tawny hand before me. “ Like Hamlet, 
I call you to look calmly on two pictures, between which the 
contrast lies, — a contrast even more forcible and appalling 
than that the Dane drew to his mother. The question is sim- 
ply this,” dropping his voice to a low, husky whisper, and lit- 
erally wrapping himself in his own long, flexible arms, while 
he looked cautiously around the apartment, “ which must pre- 
vail above the other, and who shall aid me to place the true 
prince upon his throne ? Now don’t mistake my sugges- 
tion for one minute : you are a perfect literalist, I find ;” 
laughing derisively, as he spoke these words hurriedly. 
“ The truth is, you will never understand me, Miss Harz ; 
I am essentially a humorist ; you will find this out later,” 
seeing my frozen and repellent face, as I rose and stood be- 
fore him, pale and sick with horror and indignation that I 
could not command, yet dared not find expression for, un- 
derstanding him, as I did, far better than he could compre- 
hend or would believe. 

I held the clue in my hand to the central cell, where 
dwelt the Minotaur ; and, from the ravings of fever and its 
involuntary revelations, had learned the horror of that 
inner chamber, else unsuspected. I knew the man before 
me better that hour than I knew him later, and shrank from 
his suggestions as though they contained the seeds of pes- 
tilence. Yet I felt that I must dissemble, even as I drew 
back from the pitfall at my feet, covered with green branch- 
es as it was, like the trap that deceives even the sagacious 
elephant to his doom. # 

“ You are going away without a word,” he observed, 
coldly : "my narrative, my suggestions have bored you.” 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


95 


“ No, deeply interested me, on the contrary, Colonel La- 
vigne ; but I am powerless to aid you, or counsel other 
than blind submission to the decrees of God. The remarks 
that offended you before, you would tolerate no better now ; 
I deem it madness to contend with fate.” 

“ Fate, indeed ! That mysticism again, — that platitude, 
always uppermost in some minds ! Ravaillac and Charlotte 
Corde believed in fate, I suppose. A blind neeessity, infat- 
uated fanatics that they were ! But what can inexperi- 
enced young women, like you, know of a subject that has 
puzzled priests and philosophers from the beginning of time ? 
Better put dreams of fate aside, and pin your faith to the 
skirts of expediency.” 

His coolness, his imperturbable audacity, confounded me. 

“ If I had the power, I would obliterate that word ‘ expe- 
diency’ from the language,” I said, impulsively and impres- 
sively, perhaps ; reflecting, a moment later, that even then I 
was practising one of its precepts in my own person. 

“ Then you would do an injury to speech, but make no 
difference in act ; for the roots of that quality lie deep in 
the exigencies of humanity, to which you alone, it seems, 
rise superior,” with a profound, derisive bow, adding in the 
next moment, — a breathless one to me, — “you will find 
your quarter’s salary in this sealed package, Miss Harz ;” 
and he took it from the mantelpiece and presented it to me 
ceremoniously. “ If you prefer it in coin, it is equally con- 
venient to me, and perhaps would be best for you, as banks 
and bankers are so uncertain in these days. It is very 
little, I confess, for such services as yours, but all I can 
afford. I believe, by-the-bye, that is the supper-bell. I am 
sorry to have detained you from your toilet ;” and again 
bowing formally, he said, in derisive accents, “ Go when 
you will : the door is not locked this time.” 

“ My toilet is made, Colonel Lavigne,” I replied ; 11 and, 
if you please, we can walk in side by side. This package, 
which I shall carry in my hand, will explain the mystery of 
our first appearance together in public, as well as our very 
last in private ; ” and I, too, bowed ceremoniously. 

I said all this firmly and significantly. I was resolved 
never again to meet him without witnesses, as far as it lay 
in my power to avoid such interviews, and to obey no more 
his quarterly summons to attend him in his library, — his 
devilish, and so far unavailing, ruse. 


96 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


I thought I saw very distinctly, now, that he was a mon- 
omaniac ; and this belief alone made me toleramt of his pres- 
ence : but I was determined not to suffer my feet to be 
drawn in by the quicksand of his madness, to my own de- 
struction or wickedness, one or both. 

For days after these scenes, Colonel Lavigne ignored my 
very existence ; and I was inexpressibly relieved thereby. 
To gaze from afar at Bellevue became, for a time, my favor- 
ite recreation. I carried with me a small lorgnette I owned 
in my pocket to the schoolroom (the door of which was 
now secured, at my instance, by an internal bolt), and, 
through its medium, managed to bring pretty clearly before 
my eyes the enchanting house and grounds that had taken 
such hold of my imagination. 

Major and Madame Favrand were absent, I knew, for the 
sake of her health, and the widow Weaver, who, since her 
husband’s death, had continued by the will of Armand La- 
vigne to occupy a small tenement on the domain, kept 
house at Bellevue in their absence, and held guard over the 
poor imbecile. Thus the visit, that otherwise would have 
demanded a ceremonious return by this time, was still post- 
poned. Yet one day I summoned courage to say to 
Madame Lavigne, — 

“ I should like to walk to Bellevue, if only to see the 
architectural details of that beautiful house more closely. 
Do you ever venture so far on foot ? ” 

“Not now, Miriam, and especially in that direction. I 
cannot run the risk of encountering a sight of poor Mar- 
celline, just now,” coloring slightly. “ Many months must 
pass before I can hazard another visit to Bellevue.” 

“ I shall go over alone, then, some day, or with Marian 
and Madge, if they do not object to accompany me. Of 
course, under the circumstances, we will not set foot in the 
grounds.” 

“ Wait, then, until Cousin Celia returns, and they shall 
go with you in the coach to return the formal visit she paid 
you. We always send her word first, you know, so that 
Marcelline may be kept out of the way. I should very 
much dislike to have my daughters get a glimpse even of 
that poor creature ; and the widow Weaver, though watch- 
ful enough, has little delicacy, I suppose, on the subject.” 

u Is the poor girl very repulsive, then ? ” I questioned. 

“ Don’t ask me 1 Oh, you cannot imagine, Miriam, what 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


97 


a trial it is to behold her, — what a horror ! ” and she veiled 
her eyes momentarily, as 1 had seen Bertie do on a similar 
occasion. 

“ It is weakness to feel as I do, perhaps,’ ’ she said, look- 
ing up again ; “ but I am, for some reasons, more than usual- 
ly sensitive on this subject just now. Poor wretch ! She 
is perfectly harmless, and I usually school myself to bear 
her presence when I am with Cousin Celia, who reveals her 
to me alpne. This community of horror, so to speak, has 
been a great bond between us ; for, with the exception of old 
Sabra, her devoted nurse, I am the only person permitted 
or courageous enough to behold her.’’ 

“ Has she no perfect sense, or is intellect alone wanting? 
Does she know her friends ? ” I inquired. 

“ None but her parents and foster-mother. Attachments 
she has not, yet her senses themselves seem perfect. She 
hears, sees, smells, like other people ; and her sense of taste 
is fastidious. She lives chiefly on fruits, and has her favor- 
ites among these. In their time she prefers melons, cante- 
lopes especially ; and, on this account, they are grown in 
hot-houses at Bellevue, — that is, when Major Favrand thinks 
of it. He is very careless and improvident in every way 
by nature, and often forgets for days together the very ex- 
istence of Marcelline, whom he seldom beholds, and avoids 
sedulously ; at which I cannot wonder, knowing him as I 
do — and her. 

11 By-the-bye, did ever I tell you that the shock Bertie 
received from seeing that poor creature very nearly endan- 
gered her life and reason ? She has never entirely recov- 
ered from it, but has been nervous and wayward ever since. 
The circumstances were these : I will try and recite them 
to you briefly, though detail is my forte. One evening 
when Colonel Lavigne was absent with his gun, the cry 
went up among the negroes that the bear had broken loose, 
and had disappeared ; and, as no one could control him but 
his master, it was thought useless to pursue him, until it 
was found Bertie, too, was missing. It was not her habit 
to wander off, and I felt all the more anxious about her 
on account of Mumbo’s absence ; so that half the negroes 
on the place were sent forth immediately in search of her 
and him. 

“ At the end of an hour Jura found Bertie lying quite in- 
sensible by the fence that divides Beauseincourt from Belle- 
6 


98 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


vue, with the bear deliberately mounting 1 guard above her, 
or perhaps waiting his time to devour her. Our sagacious 
dog Ossian led the way; and King, assisted by his vigi- 
lance, brought the bear, while Jura bore Bertie all the 
way home in his arms, still partially unconscious. 

? “ When she revived, the poor child was so frightened 
that her senses seemed perfectly bewildered. She insisted 
at first that she had dragged Jumbo herself by his dangling 
chain, all the way from the closed iron gate, of which the 
keys had been missing and forgotten for twenty years (it 
waslocked to be opened no more soon after my marriage), to 
prevent him from destroying poor Marcelline, the unexpect- 
ed sight of whom had doubtless entirely overwhelmed her. 
The doubt exists whether she ever saw the bear until he 
came towards her as she lay on the ground, confirming her 
swoon, probably, by the terror of his presence. And she her- 
self arrived at the same conclusion, I suppose, when her 
reason was reestablished, — which at first seemed entirely 
shaken, — for she gave up the point. 

“ To show you how completely she was under the domin- 
ion of delusion, she declared, in the beginning, that she had 
seen Marcelline Favrand in the front lawn, where she never 
goes, having an enclosed pleasure-ground with a high plank 
fence surrounding it set apart for her place of exercise, 
that the iron gate stood open, and that a man armed with 
a whip was trying to drive the bear inside of the enclosure 
through this gate, which the beast stubbornly refused to 
enter, running back and howling dismally. Finally, that 
turning to rush through the gate, she alleged she caught 
the chain hanging from his neck, and dragged him away ; 
then fell, exhausted and frightened to death, hearing the 
gate slam to as she lay, unable to rise from excess of terror. 
And thus she was discovered. She did not see the man's 
faoe, it appears ; but we suppose it was some strange ne- 
gro, and from that hour to this, Bertie never has been able 
to bear or hear the subject mentioned or Marcelline alluded 
to. We think the whole delusion arose from her excessive 
horror at the sight of the poor idiot ; for, as I said before, 
this is indescribable. 

“ She had gone out in pursuit of her father, it seems, to 
whom, by-the-bye, she had always been singularly attached, 
to give him his game-bag ; but missed him, and returned by 
the way of Bellevue, and thus met with her disaster. Since 
then she has changed even to him." 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


99 


“ The poor wretch ought to have been placed in an 
asylum/’ I could not help saying, “I do not wonder that 
Major Favrand avoids her. It is cruel to sacrifice mind to 
matter in this way/’ 

** Maternal instinct is a very mysterious thing, Miriam ; 
and Cousin Celia possesses it in excess, perhaps, tender and 
sensitive as her nature is. It is better so, I suppose.” 

I smiled, as I accused myself, silently, of inconsistency, 
when I remembered the plea and parable I had offered to 
Colonel Lavigne in favor of such unfortunates on a previous 
occasion ; but I only said, — 

“You are right, no doubt, Madame Lavigne ; 1 spoke 
without consideration. We must bear, I know, whatever 
cross God lays upon us ; and the spirit in which this is done 
makes all the difference in our merits. No thanks to us for 
enduring the inevitable ; but all praise to the being who dis- 
plays at once a tender submission and noble fortitude. Of 
these, I well believe, are the ' elect’ — God’s chosen children.” 

Day by day, after this conversation, the wish to see Belle- 
vue in my own way and at my own time strengthened with- 
in me. The leaves were falling away, now, from all deci- 
duous trees, before the stride of winter, — instinctively, as 
it seemed to me ; for as yet we had experienced nor cold 
nor frost worthy of the name, and the way through the in- 
tervening forest was at length plain before me, as was that 
of my purpose. 


CHAPTER VI. 


path I followed, by the direction of Uncle Jura, 
^ to gain the desired view of Bellevue, was one that 
seemed to be rarely travelled by man or beast, 
though nearer and more direct than the broad and 
beaten road that led from Beauseincourt. It was a 
narrow, devious way, marshy, and grass-grown in 
many places, and haply reptile-haunted. Yet for 
the once I traversed it alone, with no nobler object than the 
gratification of a morbid curiosity, no better companion than 


100 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


a dog*, the enormous and superb Newfoundland, Ossian, to 
which reference has already been made. 

After pursuing this path for above a half a mile, through 
a dense, deciduous, moss-draped wood, now nearly stripped 
of its leafy screen, except where, brown and withered, as in 
the case of the beech and a few other forest-trees, the foliage 
still clung closely to the branches, I came suddenly upon 
the open, well-kept plantation road, that skirted for some 
distance the domain of Bellevue. Opposite to this was the 
iron gate of entrance, referred to by Madame Lavigne as 
that pass way once opened by devoted brothers between the 
two estates, but closed irrevocably after the fatal rupture 
of Armand Lavigne and his nephew, — a gate which formed 
a central object in a lofty iron fence, securely planted on 
stone sills, enclosing the grounds i$ front of the mansion. 
Through this light and open arabesque of iron, the eye em- 
braced every detail of the beautiful Italian villa ( faced with 
white marble) and of its accessories. The fountain, thrown 
up from a convoluted shell of gigantic size and perfect 
workmanship, was truly the finest I have ever seen apper- 
taining to a private establishment. It rose to a height of 
more than fifty feet, making a crystalline column in the air, 
before falling back into its basin of snowy white marble, so 
as to dash eternally in wreaths of foam above the group of 
nereids clustered around the shell, from the curling lips of 
which it seemed to be propelled with eternal murmurs. 

Very fascinating to me was this Undine-like fountain, and 
this pure, white, dreamlike structure and its surroundings. 
I stood long observing it and its accessories with admiring 
eyes. There were ells with conservatories attached, and 
greenhouses stretched in glassy length to right and left. 
A high plank fence, such as is used for a circus enclosure, 
extended from the back of the mansion along the road, so as 
to shut out all farther view of the premises. 

These grounds, no doubt, contained the pleasure gardens 
set apart for the poor Marcelline, who, not knowing her own 
name, still required one for the convenience of others, — 
grounds certainly as secluded as those a Turk would have 
selected for his harem. 

It made my blood run cold in my veins to think of the hor- 
ror that even now might lurk behind the lofty plank parti- 
tion that divided them from the sight of the wayfarer. No 
one had ever described this creature to me ; yet I pictured 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


101 


her involuntarily with the usual accompaniment of lolling 
tongue and slavering lips and loose-jointed frame peculiar 
to such unfortunates, whose steps are purposeless and move- 
ments consequently ever uncouth. 1 had seen but few of 
these stricken creatures ; but those had left on my mind an 
indelible impression of mingled compassion and disgust. 

As I sauntered along the open wood that skirted this en- 
closure, now stooping to pluck an autumn flower still bloom- 
ing amid the weeds, now avoiding the points of the formida- 
ble palmetto that projected from the sides of the road, and 
threatened to tear my dress and flesh, as the case might be, 
and all the while reflecting on the might of mother’s love 
and its wonderful design, I saw Ossian bound away sud- 
denly on the path before me, with a quick, joyous bark of 
recognition. In another moment he had claimed the unwil- 
ling acquaintance of some one concealed between a far- 
spreading cedar-tree and the fence, whence I heard a part- 
ridge call. Before I had gone many steps farther, somewhat 
to my annoyance, I confess, and greatly to my surprise, 
Colonel Lavigne, arrayed in his drab velveteen hunting-suit 
and bearing his gun in the hollow of his arm, stepped out 
from his place of concealment. I paused, undecided what 
to do ; but he advanced towards me, thus precluding es- 
cape. 

“ Lying in ambush, you see, Miss Ilarz, — not for you, 
however, but a flock of birds that whirred up in this direction 
a few minutes since. My dogs are hunting them up for me ; 
in the meantime I should be happy to point out the beauties 
of Bellevue to so distinguished a visitor.” Again that iron- 
ical smile and disagreeable manner. 

“I have already gazed my fill at this beautiful place, 
Colonel Lavigne, and must now be thinking of my return to 
Beauseincourt,” I said, dryly, turning my face resolutely 
homewards. But of my remark he took no notice. 

“ Isn’t it a splendid place, now, really? You can see it 
better here than from Mount Nebo ; but you can still have 
no conception of all its attractiveness, — what lies concealed 
behind this fence, for instance,” with a searching glance. 
“ The land lies, most of it, however, at the foot of the 
hills, and is, compared to that of Beauseincourt (all in the 
hills, you know) for richness, as cream is to blue skimmed 
milk, or “ Blue Jim,” as you Northerners call that article, — 
why, I never could comprehend. But this domain is only 


102 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


“a circumstance, ’ as you Yankees say, to the rest of the su- 
perb heritage it types. ” Here he shook his head dolefully. 
“ I am beginning to come round to your opinions, though, 
and to believe that there is no use to make conditions with 
fate. Your Andrew Jacksons, Napoleon Bonapartes, Wel- 
lingtons, and the like, may, it is true, venture now and then 
to bid defiance to this rule, and kick the god of circumstance 
in the face, and send him howling ; but a plain country 
gentleman like me,” laughing bitterly, “can only * grin and 
bear it/ as folks say in these parts, when the ague seizes 
them. See : I already begin to discriminate ! 

“ But what is this ? I have been so much absorbed that 
I have not noticed the signs of the coming storm. I thought 
— with a hazy atmosphere and lurid sun, like that above us, 
hanging like a ripe pumpkin in the heavens, rather than a 
divine luminary — we should have dry weather for a season, 
at least ; but all signs fail in wet weather, and that tells me 
differently.” 

As he spoke he pointed significantly to the eddy of dust at 
our feet, and the witch-dance of leaves and twigs that in 
various eldritch circles was taking place around us.; fori 
still stood where his words had arrested me when he com- 
menced his erratic harangue about Bellevue,, scarcely know- 
ing how to break away from him, yet thirsting to be gone, 
and that right speedily. 

“Come, Ossian,” 1 said, as I looked at these precursors 
of a tempest, and heard the thunder lazily lumbering above 
our heads, “ Come, let us go ; we have little time to lose, it 
seems ; ” and I turned to depart. 

“ Wait a moment, Miss Harz,” Colonel Lavigne en- 
joined, as he saw me setting forth. “You can never face 
this gust by yourself, if it proves to be what I apprehend ; 
and on the score of responsibility alone, and as your host 
for the time, I insist on accompanying you. But first come 
here if you please, and put aside these branches for me, 
while I deposit my gun in the heart of this friendly cedar- 
tree, often before used as a repository of this kind, when I 
wanted to go home lighter than I came. That is right, — 
hold them boldly back. There is a bird in there, brooding 
upon her nest ; but we will not startle her, poor thing. And 
as to the gun, no rain can reach it here in this epitome of 
Solomon’s Temple. What a fine fragrance arises out of it I 
Do you perceive it ? ” snuffing it up eagerly. “ How fresh it 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


103 


is, how reviving ! It is sweeter than priest’s incense to my 
nostrils. Sip, the rascal, will know where to come for my 
gun after the storm is over. He is acquainted with my 
hiding-place, my armory. Now, let us be gone ; but first 
your attention, one moment, if you please ; and laying a 
light, yet strong and sudden grasp on the back of my bon- 
neted head, he bent it forcibly down to a fissure in the 
fence, about a foot below the usual level of my eyes, and 
held it there firmly. 

“ The view would have been much finer seen from the 
crotch of the cedar- tree,” he muttered ; “ but I knew I could 
never induce you to ascend it ; you will therefore excuse 
me for giving you, thus unceremoniously, a glimpse of 
Paradise.” 

“ Pray let me go, Colonel Lavigne,” I cried, struggling 
against his inexorable hand ; this is unmanly, ungenerous, 
ungentlemanly ! You have no right to treat me with such 
indignity. You must not dare to repeat your former be- 
havior.” 

“ I mean no disrespect, as you will understand when you 
have seen the object of your morbid sympathy ; in the mean- 
while gaze on the precincts assigned to the princess Mar- 
celline. Are they not very lovely ? Say, have I disap- 
pointed you ? ” 

And making the best of my situation, I replied, trem- 
blingly, — 

lt Oh, no, not at all ; ” and my eyes swept in rapidly the 
panorama of lawn, grotto, pavilion, parterre, shrubbery, 
fish-pond and mimic bridge. “ It is all very lovely, cer- 
tainly ; but this will .never do. Think, — the storm!” 
vainly endeavoring to extricate myself by any stratagem, 
whatever, and confirmed in my belief of his mania. “ We 
shall be caught in it, Colonel Lavigne.” 

“ Well, let the storm take care of itself,” he interrupted, 
“ as I certainly shall of you ; but continue to gaze until you 
have beheld the object of your chief attraction. You have 
not seen half, or you would not appear so unconcerned. I 
hope you do not find your attitude a painful or' inconvenient 
one,”* courteously relaxing his hand slightly. In a few min- 
utes I shall have the pleasure of releasing you altogether 
from the constraint of your position. In the meantime, 
look again ; what do you see, Miss Harz ? Philosopher, 
counsellor, female paragon and pedagogue, say, what do 


104 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


you behold ? No answer ? The charm works slowly, it 
appears. Look closely, I beseech ; like most imaginative 
women, you overshoot the mark, — your eyes out-travel 
sense. See there ! ” he whispered hoarsely, “ beneath that 
Gloria Munda tree, not ten feet from the fence. Ha ! what 
meets your inquiring gaze ? ” and he uttered again the 
long, low, thrilling call I had heard when first made aware 
of his presence. 

A low shriek from my lips attested, a moment later, that 
the derisive design of the monomaniac (for such I now 
more than ever believed him to be) had succeeded. 

Shocked, frightened, offended as I had been before, the 
horror I now felt paralyzed every other sensation. 

“Help me, 0 God ! ” I cried, as I recoiled from the 
blasted cedar-tree, whilst a thousand arrowy points glanced 
through my quivering frame ; and, as if in answer to my 
appeal, the near thunderbolt (simultaneous with the light- 
ning shock that had fused gun and tree together, yet spared, 
as by a miracle, the creature so near to both) was launched 
above my head in hurtling power. 

The shimmering light, as it played around us (for the 
heavens were dark, now, with one vast pall of clouds), 
revealed the stormy face of Colonel Lavigne. A face, as I 
have said before, like a convulsed mask (no other paradox 
of description can convey its peculiarity), so well suited to 
the scene of dismay and confusion that was soon to prevail. 

“We will go to Bellevue for shelter: it is nearer than 
Beauseincourt,” he muttered. “ Come with me” 

“ Oh, not there! not there !” I cried wildly. To the 
woods sooner — anywhere else — never, never in any case 
to Bellevue, that hideous place ! ” and I veiled my eyes. 

“ Come, then, ,; he said, persuasively, “ let us compromise. 
Yield yourself to my guidance. Forgive me, and be firm, 
and we shall yet reach home before the height of the hurri- 
cane ; but all depends on your self-possession. ” 

Without another word we struck across the pasture that 
presented a more open way to Beauseincourt than the shorter 
one I had pursued thither, over which a road was already 
worn. By taking this route, we were required only to pass 
through a skirt of sparse woodland, instead of through the 
forest, desirable as it now was to avoid as much as possible 
the vicinity of trees, even if by lengthening our way. 

Just as we struck this timbered space, and as if at the sig- 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


105 


nal call of unseen demons, swiftly, and suddenly, too, as a 
tiger leaps upon his prey from his jungle-bed of leaves, up- 
rose the gale. It came rushing, bounding almost visibly, 
before us ; the angel of destruction inscrutably loosened 
upon the earth, lashing the trees to madness, bending, 
writhing, snapping and uprooting them like toy whips in 
the hands of giant children, mad with mischief, and whirl- 
ing them, as if in savage and fierce contempt, across the 
open spaces. The air was thick with leaves driven on the 
breath of the blast, like flying hosts before a pursuing army, 
or like the " pestilence-stricken multitude” described by 
Shelley, "yellow and black and red,” in his grand “ Ode to 
the West-wind.”' Even then this parallel struck me. 

A low, wild, continuous moaning, such as the sea makes 
when the tides are up, filled the darkened atmosphere ; and 
now and then shrill, whistling sounds were heard, as though 
somo mighty scourge were at work in the upper air, — that 
of Hecate herself, perhaps, — while the trees swayed and 
groaned like the masts of a straining vessel, or the “ forest 
of suicides ” in Dante’s “ Inferno.” 

The low bellowing of the thunder ; the ajmost uninterrup- 
ted glare of lightning athwart the gloom ; the wild, elfish 
dance of dust and leaves, as they eddied in our path like 
pillars of phantom mockery ; the opening and closing of the 
red eye of wrath above us ; and last, not least, the driving, 
continuous drenching, blinding, and almost torrent-like fall 
of rain that terminated the whole drama, made altogether 
an effect of power and terror that I have rarely seen 
equalled. 

It had not been the habit of my life to shrink from storms. 
The electric fluid so potent in my veins had usually leaped 
with a wild allegiance to the voice of thunder, and I have 
not infrequently felt a consoling companionship in the wail 
of the surging gale, and the loosening of the rain-clouds, 
when my soul was stirred by sorrow or bowed with depres- 
sion. But to-day I was crushed, subjugated, by the might 
of the outspoken tempest, met face to face in the presence 
of nature and in my own unsheltered helplessness. 

It was now that Colonel Lavigne proved himself both 
willing and able, strong, valiant, and compassionate. He 
bore me literally along, unfit as I was to grapple with the 
emergency. Skilfully avoiding the dense woods, where the 
falling branches endangered life and limb, and making his 


106 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


way swiftly and surely, without the loss of a moment, or 
one unnecessary step, through the rain that fell almost in a 
solid sheet, and against the driving hurricane, we came at 
last into a place of safety. 

When we reached Beauseincourt, the nearest point for 
shelter after leaving Bellevue, the wind was already laid, 
and the rain was our only enemy. We entered the porch, 
where the servants thronged to meet us, drenched and 
exhausted, and then, with a few words of encouragement 
Colonel Lavigne turned me over to the tender mercies of 
Sylphy, and himself ascended to his wife’s apartment. He 
had experience of her dread of thunder-storms, during the 
continuance of which she always insisted that he should 
remain beside her with her children, whom she called about 
her at such times, as a hen calls her brood, no matter what 
their employment might be or disinclination to leave it ; as 
though she felt safety to abide in family community, or as 
if affection could shield her beloved ones from the hurtling 
arrows of heaven, if fate directed. 

For me, the stranger in the house, as befitting, there was 
on this occasion the lonely, sheltered room and the quiet 
attendance of servants ; thrice welcome now, for the sight 
that I had seen and the terrors I had encountered had 
shaken my brain temple to the centre, and made me averse 
to society. I craved, more than aught else, warmth, dark- 
ness, quiet, and my pillow ; and, biding thus and there, I 
conjured up again the scene that I had witnessed. 

Once more, in memory, I saw the old negro woman rise 
from the grass, gather up in haste her gay-colored patches, 
as she alternately glanced at the threatening clouds (mut- 
tering to herself, while stuffing her treasures in her work- 
basket), and at the small female figure neatly attired in 
white, sitting on a carpet mat beneath the trailing Gloria 
Munda branches, in an attitude of deep dejection. I re- 
membered it was some moments before she succeeded in 
arousing this petite person, as she sat with her knees drawn 
up, her arms encircling these, her hands loosely locked 
across them, her face bowed down and concealed by the 
coarse, yellow hair that fell before her in thick, shaggy 
masses. This, surely was not Marcelline. 

At last the figure stirred ; and the head was lifted, not 
three strides distant from my own ; and the unmistakable 
face glared horribly upon me. I groaned and shuddered as 


MIRIAMS MEMOIRS. 


107 


I recalled its features, photographed on my brain in inefface- 
able and sudden distinctness by the electric power of terror. 
Even as 1 write, I feel the strange recoil that chilled my 
blood for a moment, then hurled it back through my veins 
like living fire, as I saw that feline visage, with nothing 
human about it, save the white, doughlike flesh, sparsely 
overgrown with yellow, downy hair, and encountered the 
blinking, diagonally-set, greenish eyes, the fac-simile of 
which 1 had met before, glaring from behind the iron bars of 
a cage at a menagerie. The short and broadly planted nose, 
knobbed at the end ; the low, flat, retreating forehead, from 
which the wiry hair rose fiercely, ridged in the middle, 
where it was carefully parted, and flowing around the 
shoulders in coarse and yellow profusion ; the catlike eyes ; 
the grisly mouth ; the inhuman aspect, — were each and all 
unmistakably the attributes of a lioness. Never before 
was animal head so unmistakably placed upon human 
shoulders. It was like a ghastly dream of carnival. In 
another moment the cfreature sprang actively to its feet, 
dwarfed and stunted as it was in stature, and stood shaking 
its enormous head, on which the hair bristled visibly, while 
a shrill wail, or yell rather, burst from its cavernous throat, 
revealed by the casting open of the shapeless mouth (with 
its stunted tongue,) armed with sharp, divided teeth like 
those of a beast of prey. 

Until then, horror had held me spellbound ; but now the 
shriek was uttered that proved the will of my persecutor 
accomplished, and with the words, “ What think you now of 
Marcelline, the heiress of Bellevue ? ” the implacable hand 
relaxed, and I was free again, in one sense, — free, but 
with an incubus of horror fastened for life upon my memory 
by the unrighteous tyranny of a monomaniac. Then my 
heart rose up, and accused its fate sternly, rebukingly. 

** Why should I, who have sorrows enough of my own, 
have come to Beauseincourt, to taste of the bitter and 
loathly cup reserved for this strange family ? Why should 
my happiness be compromised in their inconsistencies, or 
my being involved in the mazes of their devious ways ? 
Had I dot carefully, scrupulously, kept from them, in all 
possible fashions,, every shadow of my own suffering, and 
performed my duty sternly, in the face of many misgivings 
of heart and brain, much faintness of mind and body both ? 


108 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS . 


What order, what justice was there in such decrees ? What 
humanity ? Why was I punished thus ? ” 

Such were the thoughts that crowded my throbbing brain 
in connection with the scenes of that day. The involuntary 
discoveries made in the past ; the relentless persistence of a 
maniac, in the hollow of whose hand I seemed placed by 
my wayward destiny ; and the fearful pursuing fate before 
me, — I would burst these ties, I determined then, in my des- 
peration. Again I would cast myself on strangers, dear as 
many of the inmates of Beauseincourt were becoming to me. 
1 would fly from those I loved, for the sake of the arch-fiend 
whose victim I was fast becoming, — whose warped moral 
sense was reflected at periods, as it seemed, in his very 
vision. I covered my face with my hands, to hide that evil 
aspect, returning so wildly in the silence of my chamber, 
— “ that convulsed mask,” as it had appeared to me, when 
the lurid light that seemed to flow from hell was streaming 
over it in the commencement of the tempest. 

At last I slept. But when Bertie came to ask after me at 
supper-time, I was in a feverish stupor, she told me later, 
unable to respond to her kind inquiries. Before morning I 
was delirious; and my unconscious lips revealed, as hers 
had done before, the burden that oppressed me. I raved of 
Bellevue and of Marcelline; and the rumor of these ravings, 
through the agency of my attendants, failed not to reach the 
ears of those high in authority. Yet when Doctor Durand 
arrived at noon, all this was over, and the fever of a week 
had set in slowly and steadily. 

From this phase, too, I recovered, but strangely weak- 
ened and spirit-broken. My proud resolve to leave Beau- 
seincourt was gone, — dissolved in thin air by the ministry 
of angels. Never was convalescent so petted and spoiled. 
Fruits, flowers, jellies, fans, books, papers, pictures, fine 
perfumes, feminine gossip, all made a charmed atmosphere 
about me. Even Felicite and Sylpliy and Jura and King 
vied with each other in offerings and attentions ; and Uncle 
Jumbo sent me a fetich, consisting of a tiny gourd containing 
an alligator’s tooth — never, I was assured, known to fail, 
if worn around the neck, to restore health and strength to 
the patient lingering under the ban of an “ Obi.” How did 
the poor old wretch surmise the truth ? 

Gratitude was beginning to overpower me, when Colonel 
Lavigne appeared, unbidden and unannounced, at my chain- 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


109 


ber door and dispelled the whole illusion. Nothing his 
family had done, or could do, I felt, would repay me for the 
burden he had placed upon me, — the cruel indignity of his 
behavior, reckless of all save selfish gratification. I re- 
ceived him stiffly, and had he asked for an interview, should 
not have granted it at all ; and this he had surmised, prob- 
ably, for he had chosen a moment when he knew he should 
find me alone, in order to make his “ amende, ” such as it 
proved to be, — and which was only an additional proof of 
his selfish indifference to all save his own interests. 

But this very devotion to expedience was in itself undeni- 
ably a startling instance of reason. I was obliged to own 
that even if mad, “ there was method in his madness,” and 
from that hour found myself reluctantly, yet surely, retiring 
more and more each day from the idea that had at first char- 
itably possessed me, of his mania, until I came to believe 
him at last only a sophist, — that worst of all miserable 
lunatics, perhaps, rightly considered. 

As I have said, my reception of my host and visitor was 
not a gracious one. I was sitting, as I remember, on that 
lovely autumn day, in a deep chair, near the open door, 
that gave on the porch, inhaling with a new delight the 
fragrance of the still luxuriant and perennially blooming 
Augusta rose that climbed around it, when the tall form of 
Colonel Lavigne suddenly appeared before me, darkening 
the whole chamber to my eyes. He had approached very 
noiselessly, as was not his custom ; for his usual step was 
solemn rather than stealthy. He now came forward with 
his hand extended, and the smile of a recognized friend ; 
having chosen, it seemed, to forget, or ignore altogether, 
my displeasure. 

“ You are better, I see,” taking my nerveless hand in his, 
for a moment, for I did not extend it to him, “ almost well, 
Durand tells me, though he never considered you in the 
slightest danger. In our climate every wetting is followed 
by fever, — to the stranger, at least. We Southrons don’t 
mind exposure to sun or storm. I, for instance, am a man 
of leather.” 

“Queer,” in two senses, I thought, punning, silently, on 
the French word “Cuire,” which he had thus applied to 
himself, though in a different tongue. I smiled at my own 
thoughts, and he went on, encouraged, no doubt, by my 
apparent good nature. 


110 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


“ I am really sorry for your indisposition, and we are 
all glad to see you better. You are a great favorite at 
Beausein court already ; but you have not yet seen the 
person whose favor it is most worth while to covet.” 

Again I faintly smiled, but made no reply. Thus encour- 
aged, he continued, — 

“ Well, well, it is of no use discussing impossibilities. 
But you have seen yourself what a monster *she is, and how 
monstrous are those previsions.” 

“ 0 Colonel Lavigne,” 1 cried impulsively, “spare me 
on that subject in future, I beg ! It makes me ill but to 
think of her; and in such relation must recur ever your 
very unwarrantable conduct. I must entreat, in future, 
from all this, complete exemption. Remember ! I am the 
merest stranger in your house. I ” — 

I leaned back, faint and exhausted, unable to conclude 
the sentence on my lips ; and waved my hands merely, in 
pantomimic conclusion. 

“Here, sniff this aromatic stuff,” he suggested, taking 
my vinaigrette from the stand beside me, and smiling 
grimly as I accepted and used it gratefully. 

“You must not be so nervous, or I shall lose my faith in 
your strength of character. You may be intended, for 
aught you know to the contrary, to carry out some great 
work yet, — some good to mankind.” 

“ Oh, never, never ! All that I ask is peaceful medi- 
ocrity, and to be let absolutely alone." 

“ Besides that,” he continued, as though he had not 
heard me, — as perhaps he had not, being one of those self- 
absorbed men, who conduct conversation on one-sided prin- 
ciples, to use a Fenianism, — “besides that, you will post- 
pone your recovery indefinitely, — which is a very long 
time, you know,” smiling quaintly. “By the bye,” with 
startling abruptness, “ I hope you have not compromised 
me at all, in the statements you have been making with 
regard to this new discovery of yours.” 

“I am not responsible, Colonel Lavigne, for what I may 
have uttered in delirium, and I do not admit for one 
moment that any confidence exists, or can exist between 
us. You promised when I agreed to come here, that wo 
two should ‘ have very little indeed to do with one another/ 
I recall your exact words, and demand their strict fulfil- 
ment.” 

Again I leaned back exhausted. 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


Ill 


u Quite along speech for a delicate young lady to make : 
and, what is more, quite a fiery one for certain condi- 
tions ; but I pass all that -over for the present. You will 
be tamed by and by ; I have a faculty for subjugating wild 
animals, — bears, lions, and the like. But time and patience 
are required,” he mused, smiling sardonically. “ Like your- 
self, I hate wild beasts, Miss Harz. I prefer ‘ L’animale appri- 
voisee/ — don’t you ? See Mumbo, for instance. He was 
perfectly ferocious as a cub ; look at him now, — as mild 
as a sucking dove. You will see him some day, no doubt, 
standing on the porch, with his paws on your window-sill, 
lolling his tongue at you like a Japanese exquisite.” 

u That day would terminate our acquaintance, Colonel 
Lavigne, if not my existence. I have no confidence in your 
bear, I must acknowledge, — am very much afraid of him, 
and convinced that he will destroy you yet, if you do not 
anticipate him in the work of destruction. He is a monster 
that, I insist upon it, shall be kept away from me.” 

“ Then you really dislike my Mumbo almost as much as 
his master ? What an unreasonable young person you are ! 
You do not know your best friends, it seems. When a 
woman has your enterprise, your spirit ” — 

“ Colonel Lavigne,” I interrupted, “ I beg that this tri- 
fling may cease. I am ill, distressed, — in your own house, 
and in one sense at your mercy. If you are a gentle- 
man, withdraw and leave me to the enjoyment of my soli- 
tude, all that I ask at your hands. Should such annoyance 
be renewed, however my interests might suffer, we must 
part ; and I hope, to a man of generous feelings, this view 
of the subject will be irresistible. I am comparatively 
happy here, and try to do my duty ; I should find it incon- 
venient, and, for some reasons, painful, to throw up my 
engagement suddenly ; but all must yield to a sense of 
what I owe myself. Go, now, I entreat you, and come to 
me no more.” 

“ Your wishes shall be respected,” he said, turning away 
with a sudden resumption of his dignity. “ Forget, if you 
please, that I have ever harassed you in any way. You are 
a good girl, I believe, but more commonplace than I had 
supposed you. But again, as your employer this time, let 
me charge you, as far as I am concerned, to be discreet.” 
And he glanced a menace at me. “ You will find it your 


112 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


best policy.’ ’ So saying, he departed, and again I breathed 
freely. 

A moment after Colonel Lavigne had left my room, Bertie 
stole quietly in, looking as pale as ashes, with blazing eyes. 

“ I have heard everything,” she said, “everything, from 
the first to the last word, and purposely too. I followed 
him to learn his errand Oh ! that man, that man ! you 
begin to know him now.” 

“ But, Bertie, to listen surreptitiously ! How mean, — 
how degrading ! What could have induced you to so far 
forget your self-respect ? ” 

“He is my father, and, in spite of all, still dear to me,” 
she said, clasping her hands, while large tears rolled down 
her face. “ You cannot understand why I consider it my 
duty to watch over him thus ; and your welfare, too, is 
precious to me as my own life, dearer than my honor, even,” 
pressing her hands, still clasped together, above her heart. 
“And you know what that is to a Southern lady, — a 
Lavigne. He took you to see that horrible sight, that is 
plain, for some purpose or other that he has not yet devel- 
oped, no good one, I well understand ; and he has been here 
trying to smooth it all over again. That is the way boa con- 
strictors do, you know, when about to swallow their victims. 
They slime and slime, then break all their bones at a crush ; 
and, when once reduced to a jelly, down they go at a gulp. 
Now don’t suffer yourself to be slimed, and jellified, and 
swallowed up, Miss Harz. Don’t have anything to do with 
that man and his affairs. As to Walter, he is only the gilded 
hook for 1 the silly fish now playing in the brook.’ 

“ There, now, I have spoken very plainly ; but you would 
not think hard of me if you knew all, — as you never can, — 
nor judge my eavesdropping on common principles. But 
mother! Don’t let her know, I entreat” — and she came 
and knelt by my side — “ that he took you to Bellevue. It 
would nearly kill her, it would, indeed, and set her poor 
brain to working; and, as she could never make out the 
truth, it might breed mischief between you two, who love 
each other so dearly now. But you ought not to have gone 
to see Marcelline in such company,* Miriam Monfort. You 
ought not, indeed, for your own sake.” 

I started at the sudden application of my name. It seemed 
a delicate menace, — -a reminder that she held in her hand 
the clues to more than one mystery. 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


113 


tl It is due to myself, as well as to him, to declare to you, 
Bertie, — and you may so tell your mother should she ques- 
tion you on the subject, — that I went alone to Bellevue, 
impelled solely by a wish to see the place, and that Uncle 
J ura pointed out to me a near and private pathway through 
the forest. The dog Ossian was my only escort. I met your 
father accidentally at the fence, where he compelled me, I 
confess, to look at ‘ Marcelline/ if, indeed, a human name 
befit so monstrous a creation. lie brought me back, how- 
ever, kindly and safely, through the dreadful storm, in which, 
otherwise, I might have perished. So far I thank him. My 
only cause of otfence against Colonel Lavigue, lies in his 
wanton disregard of my feelings on the occasion of this com- 
pulsory violation of Madame Favrand's mystery, — one 
which I never should have sought to penetrate, and shall 
regret the knowledge of eternally. ” 

“ Oh, yes ! I understand that,” she said, shuddering; 
“ and I believe every word you have spoken, and so will 
mother. You are truth itself, Miriam Monfort,” kissing my 
hand rapturously. “ I felt that from the first.” 

“ But, my dear, dear girl, why call me by a name that 
for a season I have thought it best to lay aside ? It is 
unworthy of you, I feel, to take this advantage. When I 
am ready, believe me, all will be proven fair to every one 
who honors me now with love and confidence.” 

“ Yes, yes, that is all we can expect, certainly. I wish, 
though, mother's misgivings could be set at rest.” 

“ Your own, you mean, Bertie. I am sure your mother 
has no misgivings on the subject of my honorable past. 
But I cannot gratify your curiosity yet, my child, true 
daughter of Eve that you are.” 

“ Oh, I suppose we have met in some former state of 
existence,” she said, carelessly, “ and that accounts for the 
interest I feel in you, — unaccountable as it otherwise is, — 
in you and your stupid history. I have a remembrance of 
just such a scene as this, enacted a thousand years ago,” 
she said, suddenly shading her eyes with her hand. “ Where 
could we have been then, I wonder? In Saturn himself, 
perhaps, — God knows, — or may be on this earth, in Per- 
sia or in Egypt or Rome. Well, well ! we shall know every- 
thing after a while, and that is one comfort in death. But 
how° strange these sudden glimpses are, which we catch 
every now and then, of something that is past or yet to 
7 


114 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


come,” and she looked up at me solemnly, “ as if it were 
through the green curtain of the performance beyond ! The 
very sight of the feet underneath, you know, has something 
thrilling.” 

“ You must have been reading 'Scipio’s Dream/ Bertie, 
to account for such imaginings.” 

il No, no, I never heard of it, even ; but, ever since I 
could think and feel, I have believed that I have lived from 
the very beginning of time, in some state of being. I feel 
so old here 1 ” laying her hand upon her breast. “ There is 
very little if any difference in ages, you see, when you 
think of our immense number of eons in another stage of 
existence. I am as old, in one sense, as father or mother 
either. What signifies a few years, more or less, on this 
dreary, little, circumscribed earth of ours ? All depends on 
experience, at last.” 

Had I known less certainly, to what she referred, I might 
have marvelled to see the cold, bleak shadow that stole 
across her face, and smiled to observe the calmness of her 
folded hands and quiet attitude, as it seemed in self-poised 
confidence of her right to claim the privilege alone assigned 
to years usually, —the grave and questionable prerogative 
called experience, the dreariest of disenchanters. 

But 1 looked upon her as she sat, with tender and pity- 
ing eyes, and feelings half reverential in their character. In 
her time of bloom and blossom, of bee and sunshine, the 
blight had fallen usually reserved for those who have lived 
through the summer of existence, and passed, by slow 
degrees and natural changes, into the realm of frost. 

“ I was born under Mars,” she said, after a pause ; “ and 
a soothsayer prophesies that I shall die on the battle-field, 

1 red and gory : ’* so destiny shuts me out from my favorite 
dream of a desert island with plenty of grapes and books, 
and goats like Robinson Crusoe’s. Wouldn’t you like to 
live with me there, dear Miriam Monfort ? ” 


A prophecy since strangely verified. 


MIRIAMS MEMOIRS. 


115 


CHAPTER VII, 


0 you caught the lion’s impress the moment you 
beheld poor Marcelline ? ” said Madame Lavigne to 
me a few days later. “ Bertie has been telling me that 
you saw her through a fissure in the fence, which I 
sent Jura over immediately to find out and stop up. 
Cousin Celia would be greatly concerned, did she know 
such a place of observation open to every passer-by. 
The neighbors frequently make use of that road, when it 
shortens their journeys, and it would be a matter of grave 
olfence to hinder them. Yet this universal custom has its 
inconveniences. Isn’t she a horrible monstrosity, Miriam ? ” 
“ Oh, fearful 1 But I should suppose habit would by this 
time have reconciled you to think of her without a revolting 
shudder. What a constant trouble the vicinity of this 
horror must have been to you.” 

“ When I had a rapid succession of children, I avoided 
the place on principle, lest the lion race should have been 
perpetuated at Beauseincourt. Now, after the lapse of 
years, I have the same reason,” she hesitated, “for doing 
so again. Cousin Celia knows this, so that she is not 
wounded at my withdrawal from her house. Her own mis- 
fortune renders me doubly careful. You understand me 


now, Miriam.” 

“ Is old Felicite’s story then true ? ” I asked. 

“I knovwnot what she told you, but the simple truth is 
this : Major Favrand was always a picture fancier, and 
when, soon after their marriage, Cousin Celia was sum- 
moned to Bellevue, on account of the sudden illness of her 
father, he purchased., during her absence, an enormous pic- 
ture of a lion-hunt, to adorn their house in Charleston. 
They lived there then, in their happy marriage estate. 

“ Cousin Celia returned home unexpectedly, having found 
her father on the road to recovery. She took a carriage at 
the wharf, drove to her own house, and entered the front 
door, which she found unlocked, without ringing the bell or 


116 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


calling the servants. The drawing-room door was opposite 
to this. It was a long, lateral room, in which were many 
windows, all closed but one : before this, open above, the 
newly purchased picture was placed on the floor until it 
could be determined where it could be advantageously hung. 

“ The principal figure on the canvas was an immense lion 
in the foreground, crouching for a spring, on which the 
light from the window streamed, so as to give it a lifelike 
appearance, and throw the groups beyond into deep shadow. 
Nervous, weary, and dispirited as she was at not meeting 
her husband, as she had hoped to do, with her carriage in 
attendance at the landing, — there had been some mistake, 
it seems, about the hour, — and anxious, in consequence, 
as } r oung wives are apt to be, to find him in the house, — ■ 
she threw open the drawing-room door impatiently, having 
first closed that of entrance, and found herself face to face 
with an escaped menagerie monster, as she imagined, with- 
out hope of retreat. The last thing she remembered or 
imagined, was (so fearfully was she excited) hearing it roar, 
as she fell swooning on the floor. There Major Favrand 
found her, still insensible, an hour later, when he came 
home, for the servants were still unconscious of her return. 
A few months later he had cause to rue the purchase of that 
fatal picture.” 

“ Such things have always seemed to me old wives' sto- 
ries until now,” I said, much impressed by the horror of 
this relation, and the strange injustice it seemed to shadow 
forth. “ Why was not the monster taken away before its 
mother saw it, and consigned to other hands ; then other 
children might have crowned her hearth, or she might still 
have been happy in her husband’s love alone, and the power 
her wealth confers ? ” I asked eagerly. 

“ Because things were mismanaged in the beginning, as 
was also Cousin Celia, I fear, for her health has been declin- 
ing ever since, and she has had no more children. Soon after 
this, that strange enmity arose on her father’s part against 
my husband, which determined the old man, hopeless of 
another direct heir, to preserve by every artifice in his power, 
the life of this imbecile, merely to thwart his nephew. The 
feelings of a mother were of course too strong in Cousin 
Celia’s case to admit of any motive being assigned to her 
other than maternal instinct, but even she could never bring 
herself to the task of nourishing her own offspring ; this 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


117 


devolved on Sabra. You know it is our Southern custom 
to have assistance of this kind in rearing our children ; but 
we never yield the office of maternity entirely to another, if 
we can help it, as she did voluntarily. Sabra has been her 
chief aid and consolation in the care of this wretched being, 
and has proved herself invaluable to her mistress, who lav- 
ishes upon her indulgences of every kind save one. The 
poor creature is hopelessly pinned down to the side of Mar- 
celline, and was forced to abandon her own children to the 
care of others in order to fulfil this duty. Yet, so far as can 
be judged, she has done this willingly for the sake of her 
mistress, whom she worships. Yet in order to obtain some 
variety and excitement, I suppose, so necessary to creatures 
of her race, the poor wretch drinks immoderately at times, 
and Cousin Celia fears will be forced to give up her charge 
if she does not reform, which, as Marcelline knows and obeys 
her only, would involve great discomfort to her mother.* ’ 
“All this is very dreadful, but perhaps you have already 
pursued this subject too far ; think of your own welfare, 
now, and hope that the good sense of mankind will some day 
set aside the unjust entail of Armand Lavigne. Surely, no 
Chancellor, at her parent's death, would decree to such a 
being more than a support and an asylum.** 

“This has all been investigated duly, in anticipation of 
what must be,*’ she rejoined ; “ for the life of Cousin Celia 
hangs on a hair. She has some organic disorder which 
involves her heart ; and life is only prolonged by constant 
care and the tender attentions of that inconsistent being, 
her husband, to whom she is blindly devoted.** 

“ So far she is happy, let us trust,’* I remarked. 

“ No, Miriam,** she pursued, unheeding my rejoinder, 
“ there was no device omitted by that wily old man to sur- 
round his will with meshes of indissoluble strength in the 
eyes of the law, yet he never breathed his intention. To the 
last, although a coolness between them had existed for some 
time, my husband believed that the strong love of Armand 
Lavigne for his brother Roger, to whom he had promised on 
his dying-bed an equitable division between their children, 
would prevail over capricious displeasure. For with the 
sole exception of having one day said in his uncle’s pres- 
ence, that the ‘ French physicians were right in destroying 
monsters at their birth,’ he was unconscious of having given 
any grounds of offence. Even after this speech, which the 


118 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


old man passionately resented at the moment, they dined 
together once or twice, and met politely in the houses of 
mutual friends. 

“During the existence of this coolness, Armand Lavigne 
sent me a present of pearls of great size and beauty, and a 
purse containing a hundred gold doubloons, which I squan- 
dered freely, supposing in due time that more would come. 
This was the last money of his, however, that was ever des- 
tined to cross a palm in Beauseincourt, unless our son should 
succeed ! I should not complain if Walter were to inherit, 
though it seemed so insulting even for this purpose to reach 
a hand over my husband’s honorable head. But this is not 
to be : I see and feel that Marcelline will survive us all, and 
poverty is our portion. Indeed, my dear Miriam, Colonel 
Lavigne has never been the same man since that iniquitous 
testament was read to him, — calculated, if ever will was, to 
build up enmity between the Favrands and ourselves. But 
this we will not permit, nor will they. We are still on 
friendly terms, and shall remain so, if only for good blood’s 
sake, though from neither of them could we ever ask or 
accept a pecuniary favor. 

“ Sometimes I think it was because of Colonel Lavigne’s 
lukewarm conduct to Cousin Celia, that the old man bore 
him this grudge ; and that his anger about Marcelline was 
all a subterfuge. But none can tell what rankled in his 
heart. Had he only paid our debts, we might have borne 
it better ; but then, as now, Beauseincourt was involved 
almost hopelessly, I fear, though we have struggled on, so 
far, with a millstone about our necks. God alone knows 
what the termination is to be. If cotton could stand 
steadily at ten cents a pound, the planters could all look 
up, and the heel of the commission merchant be lifted from 
their necks. As it is we work only for a support for our- 
selves and negroes, and to enrich the brokers. 

“ When I married Colonel Lavigne, I had the hope of 
fortune. But in the disastrous year of ’37, my father died, 
and all he had was swept away in the financial flood ; so I 
have never had the happiness to aid my husband to redeem 
his estates as I looked forward to doing, and as my father 
would have done, had he survived, with his energies and 
position. We have never even been able to repair and 
refurnish this house, for which purpose I would gladly 
economize. But Colonel Lavigne will not hear of table 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


119 


retrenchment, and I can practise no other so advanta- 
geously. Our dress is simple enough, and we entertain 
but little. How, then, can I systematize matters ? ” 

“ Cut the Gordian knot at once, dear Madame Lavigne, 
or ruin will ensue ; and, for the sake of your daughters, 
avoid that abyss. I gave you this counsel before, — forgive 
me if I repeat it, inexperienced as I am, — Leave Beau- 
seincourt.” 

“ What I sell our land and negroes ? ” 

“ If you do not, others will. What else remains ? A 
good house might be purchased for a tithe of the amount, 
an income vested and debt paid with the remainder ; then 
you would all be free from bondage.” 

She shook her head sadly. 

“You are slaves now,” I continued, “indisputably, to 
your negroes and creditors, and consumed by that relent- 
less fury, anxiety.” 

“ None but a Northern woman could give such advice, 
Miriam,” Madame Lavigne replied. “ It would seem a 
strange proceeding to Southern eyes, and Colonel Lavigne 
would shrink from it with horror ; and, you know, there is 
suicide in the family.” 

“ The suicidal policy is the one you are now pursuing, it 
seems to me,” I answered. “ For your husband’s sake, 
any change would be a godsend. As to your son, waste 
no regets on him. In his profession, fortune is a super- 
fluity. The naval officer needs only his sword and his ship. 
No class is, or can be, half so independent of factitious 
circumstances. Walter Lavigne is provided for; think 
only of yourselves.” 

“ Why, my dear Miriam, I cannot even venture on a 
suggestion : I am not organized like you (a touch of kindly 
satire here, I could but feel), to work revolutions. After a 
lifetime of submission, first to my father, next to my hus- 
band, I could not commence now to oppose the head of the 
house. And surely his kindness, affection, fidelity, all 
claim from me the only tribute in my power, — coincidence 
with his will.” 

So spoke the constant, self-sacrificing wife, and I was 
silenced by these words of virtue. It was not for me, a 
stranger in their gates, to cast the apple of discord between 
this pair. Their doom was fixed, I knew ; and I gazed with 
sad, compassionate eyes into the far vista of sorrow and 


120 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


poverty that lay before them, if persistence in their present 
course were adhered to. Six helpless Southern women 
turned adrift, or crushed by the humiliation of dependence 1 
God help all such, I pray, now and evermore ! 

It is a strange mystery to me, this entire difference of 
races, united in government alone, — a problem that must 
resolve itself some day, I fear, in dissension and bloodshed. 
God grant that I may not live to see that time, of which 
nullification is but the entering wedge, and Calhoun the 
Southern type, — the day that is still to dawn in storm and 
horror I 

***** 

“ Bertie, ” I said one day, not long after this unprofitable 
conversation, which seemed for a season to throw a slight 
barrier of reserve between Madame Lavigne and myself, 
“ Bertie, if I were you, I would try and discipline my mind 
a little more, in view of what may happen. A good friend 
of mine gave me this advice once when my prosperity 
seemed as indestructible as yours does now, and I thank 
him for it, to this hour ; it shaped my life. Had I not laid 
Mr. Gerald Stanbury’s counsel to heart, I should not now 
be here teaching your 1 young ideas how to shoot . 7 ” 

“ Or not to shoot, rather, ” she answered, readily. “ You 
know you disapprove of the use of the long-bow. ” 

“Your arrow is always on the string, Bertie, for a ren- 
counter. But listen to me seriously. ” 

“ Well, I listen, ” composing herself into a ludicrously 
prim attitude, and twirling her thumbs: “preach, Miriam 
Monfort, as long as you have a mind or a vocation. Now 
begin, — Firstly.” 

“No, Bertie, not while you mock me; ' Levity is the 
devil’s favorite sin,’ some author sa ys, — a wise one, who- 
ever he may be. Beware of its indulgence, thoughtless 
child.” 

“ Believe me,” she said, dropping her pert demeanor as 
quickly as she had assumed it, and standing with folded arms 
before me, while her cheek hushed at my rebuke, and her 
haughty eye flashed fire (that Huguenot blood others was as 
ready to blaze as spirits of wine); “believe me, Miss Harz, 
that whatever may betide, I shall never emulate a Yankee 
1 schoolmarm : ’ no, 1 would stand in a store first in Broad- 
way, or go on the stage, like noble Fannv Kemble. Do not 
think, because your vocation is a miserable one, you can 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


121 


recommend it to others. I would rather he a vivaudiere at 
once, in a Calhoun regiment, and help to kill Yankees, than 
shut myself up in a monastic solitude like this, to teach 
Huguenot owls, and grow to look like one myself. ,, 

“ I thought you liked your home, Bertie,” 1 said, quietly ; 
“ I thought 3 T ou respected me, yourself, your family.” 

She had made ready for battle, and my tone disappointed 
her. She stood uncertain how to proceed, I saw. 1 calmly 
took a book, and busied myself in its pages. By and by, 
I heard her sobbing passionately. I turned to her quietly. 

“ My dear girl, what is the matter ? ” 1 inquired. “ What 
can possess you ? Your conduct seems unreasonable to 
me.*’ 

Still the low, passionate weeping. 

“Bertie, this will never do; come here to me, dear 
child ; ” and I laid my book open on the table. She came 
and knelt beside me, burying her face in my lap. 

“ You are so cross,” she said, at last, sobbing convul- 
sively, — “ such a cross — cross — cat,” still sobbing between 
her words, “I can’t endure you lately ; I don’t believe I 
ever ” — 

“ Bertie ! ” rebukingly. 

“ Well, I will not say another word. Are you satisfied 
now, tyrant ? ” and, before I could anticipate her intention, 
she rose and threw herself on my neck, pressing me closely 
in her arms. Such inconsistency ! 

“ Have mercy on my clean collar, Bertie.” 

Those careless words avenged me. She saw how extrav- 
agant I thought her conduct from first to last, and sat down 
pacified and ashamed, wanting my sympathy. 

•* I shall live at the Refuge, with Walter,” she observed, 
in a low tone, after a pause, during which she sat sullenly on 
a trunk, and I resumed my book. ** If the worst comes, I 
too shall be a cross old maid, and I will keep house for him 
when he gets his own.” 

“ His own will be a ship, Bertie, and you are very young 
to make such rash promises,” speaking above my book, 
without raising my eyes from its pages. 

“ Not rash at all, — only sensible. Mother thinks I was 
‘ born to make somebody miserable : ’ I heard her say. so to 
father one night when I was put to bed, supperless, in the 
trundle, by order of old Doremus, and they thought me fast 
asleep. From that hour I resolved to thwart my destiny, 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


122 

\ 

if possible, and spare * somebody 1 his dose of misery ; 
and so I will imitate your example, and be a spiteful old 
maid, and make myself as disagreeable as possible, — a sort 
of amber-witch.” 

“ You will not find the last difficult, Bertie.” 

“ Nor the first either, you think ? ” she said sharply. 
“ Who so mad as to come wooing to one of the five sisters 
of York ? Dickens was painting us when he wrote that 
tale.” 

No answer to this pathetic question, finding which, she 
continued, after a pause, — 

“Most Yankee teachers who come to the South expect 
to get married ; but some are grievously disappointed. In 
the first place,” touching one forefinger with the other, “a 
woman who secures a husband under such circumstances 
must be good-looking — moderately so at least — and — and 
— a Christian ; in the second place,” still counting on her 
fingers, “good-tempered ; in the third place, tolerably smart. 
I feel sorry for those that are neither of these, and have to 
abide in solitude forever.” 

Here she groaned sympathizingly, and clasped her hands. 

“ If Doctor Durand were single, now, there might be some 
hope, he is such a soft-hearted, gentle old gander ; but I 
can’t for the life of me think of any one else who would ven- 
ture on such a hazardous step. Can you, Miss Harz ? ” 
laying her finger on her lip; then, after a pause, suddenly 
advancing towards me with extended hands and smiling 
eyes. 

“ What were you saying, Bertie ? ” looking up coldly. 

“ Oh, you heard well enough, you know you did ; and you 
are not such a goddess as you think yourself, because you 
have one poor, forlorn, little female worshipper.” Kneeling 
down, and taking my hands in hers, “ Come, let’s make up ; 
I can’t endure this one moment longer. Kiss me yourself 
this time ; I am afraid of the immaculate collar,” clasping 
her hands behind her. “ Nothing but a little strip of white 
muslin, after all, — not much to rumple. But what are you 
reading ? ”as I stooped, and kissed her brow coldly, severely, 
even. “ Telemachus, as I live, — which you know by 
heart already. Oh, what a humbug you are, sweet Miriam 
Monfort 1 ” 

A shower of kisses from dewy lips belied these censori- 
ous words, which I could not foresee well enough to resist, 
but did not return. 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


123 


“ Bertie, life is too short to be trifled with in this way,” 
I said, as I held her at arm’s length, reprovingly. “ Youth 
is evanescent ; yours will go by like an unprofitable dream, 
I fear. Do, my dear child, give more thought to your 
improvement ; your arithmetic, for instance, is sadly neg- 
lected.” 

1 can do all those sums in my head : what is the use of 
ciphering them out ? ” she said, dropping her head. 

” But, Bertie, that is the only way to understand the sub- 
ject. Suppose you had to manage complex affairs : what 
would you do without an accurate knowledge of figures ‘i ” 
1 meant to be very trite, very practical. 

li Well, I will try to do better in this respect, — just to 
please you, remember,” she rejoined, meekly, with down- 
cast eyes, “ as I never expect nor intend to manage complex 
affairs.” 

“ Thank you, my dear. And your French exercises ? ” 

“ Oh, bother 1 ” she broke forth, at last, ** I hate that gib- 
berish, anyhow, — the native tongue of Henry IV. Set me 
to Italian, and I will astonish you. I adore the Medicis, 
old Catharine and all, and their language will come easy.” 

“ Child, you are incorrigible.” 

“ Mistress, I have my moods as well as tenses ; ” and 
she made me a quaint curtsy. 

“ With which you seek to cover all offences,” I impro- 
vised, in turn smiling. 11 That will do ; the conference is 
ended, Bertie. But I hope the lessons will be well pre- 
pared to-morrow. #Now go, and bury yourself in the ‘ Old 
Curiosity Shop/ if you choose, and dream of little Nell, 
that childish paragon, whom you so wilfully dub a puppet.” 

By and by she returned, eager and panting. 

“ Oh, come down stairs, Mi£s Harz 1 Mother says you 
must. There is a new man, a Mr. Gregory, and also a Mr. 
McChesney, that looks just like a Cheshire cat. Mr. Greg- 
ory is very striking indeed, but a little hateful and not 
handsome. However, Alice Durand says he is so agreeable 
and witty ! They came on horseback, of course to stay all 
night. Mrs. Durand and the Doctor are behind them in 
their gig, lined with red flannel, specked with black sand- 
flies, (aren’t you happy now ?) The pattern came over on 
the ark. The old lady has come to observe, so be on your 
good behavior, and don’t flirt. Do put on your dark-blue 
chaPy dress and rose-colored bow ; it is so very becoming 


124 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


to your gypsy-queen style of hideousness 1” with a carol 
of laughter. “ There, now, that was only a * Roland for an 
Oliver/ I am going to send Sylphy. Don’t disappoint 
me about your appearance. I have been boasting ; and 
they may think me a Gascon, instead of a Georgian, if you 
belie my words. But you won’t put me to shame, 1 know ; ” 
and away she bounded again, to return before many minutes 
had elapsed, to hasten my toilet, and perhaps inspect it. 

I found Mr. McChesney just as I expected to see him. 
He had teeth “ a la Darker,” and showed them continually ; 
and Bertie had described him pretty well when she said, 
“I do believe he is the original * Chessy cat.’ lie was 
an unsuspicious, fat -hearted Englishman, travelling to 
observe the country and its inhabitants, and said, "Dear 
me ! ” “ Bleth my thoul ! ” and “ You don’t tliay tho ! ” in 
strict rotation, which may give some idea of his conversa- 
tional facilities. In addition to his thick, lisping enuncia- 
tion, and extreme nearsightedness, his face was dull, his 
appetite large, his credulity great; and there was nothing 
else remarkable about him except the size of his feet and 
whiskers. He took very decidedly to Madge ; and, as 
Marion was indisposed, Mr. Gregory became for the time 
my property and easy prey. " God save the mark I ” Think 
of a pigeon preying upon a falcon, for illustration. 

Mr. Gregory had travelled extensively, and remembered 
well. He had a fund of anecdote, a pleasant voice, a ready 
wit, a changeable physiognomy, though, as Bertie had said, 
" not handsome,” a graceful figure, afid lithe, expressive 
hands, which seemed at times to be boneless, so completely 
did he command them to subjection. 

I defer further „desc/ip4icjn, as in truth at the time I made 
no profound examination either mentally or 'physically of a 
person who plays no unimportant part in this Retrospect. 
I found the following entry in my diary of that evening. 
Let it pass for what it proves itself to be worth. Of this 
my reader must be the final judge. *’ * 

“ Let me see whether or not my first impressions of Mr. 
Gregory are to be confirmed ; for I shall, doubtless, have 
opportunities of knowing him better, since he has come to 
remain some time in the neighborhood. He is to meet, here, 
it seems, the chief engineer of our contemplated county 
road, in sage consultation as to expense, direction, etc. 
Colonel Lavigno is elated with the prospect. But to return 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


125 


to Mr. Gregory, who bears the apostolic name of 11 Luke,” 
a name I never fancied, notwithstanding its holy associa- 
tions. I do not like his conical head, running up to such a 
point of self-esteem, then falling rapidly towards the brow, 
which is so wide and low that it looks like a stripe, beneath 
his jet-black hair, full to bursting as it is of brains evidently 
in the intellectual regions. He has, however, neither 
ideality nor reverence according to the laws of phrenology. 
What nonsense 1 I am playing out the farce of Colonel 
Lavigne, at the Mansion House, when he bade me remove 
my bonnet, and show my bumps. I am criticizing this 
stranger unfairly perhaps. Yet if Mr. Gregory is a good 
man, phrenology is at fault. I do not like his Chinese eyes, 
either, that close when he laughs ; so black and piercing at 
other times ; soft and languishing, too, I find, when he 
chooses, — an odious expression, always, to me, from associ- 
ation, perhaps. And I do not like his flexile hands, that 
flap about so constantly ; nor the habit he has of stick- 
ing out his long, straight leg and so admiringly contem- 
plating his well-clad foot. There is something strange 
about his feet, certainly ; but what it is I cannot yet make 
out. They are probably as supple as his singular hands. 
Most persons would call them “ elegant extremities; ” to 
me they are not pleasing. I like firmer looking pedestals 
for a man to poise himself upon, and am no friend to foppish 
hands or finical feet. 

“ Bertie observed us closely while we talked. I was 
glad to break away at last from her surveillance, and go to 
Mrs. Durand, a stranger to me, hitherto, with a kind and 
benevolent face, and who evidently suits the doctor exactly. 
I find their daughter, Alice, very pretty, though somewhat 
inane. Madge looked well this evening ; Bertie, plainer 
than I ever saw her. Why will she persist in wearing that 
long-sleeved, loose bombazine apron on all occasions ? It 
hides her pretty figure completely, and makes her look a 
perfect dowd. Yet how sweet is her unconsciousness of 
self!” 

So stands recorded my prophecy about Gregory ; or my 
foreboding, rather, destined perhaps to be dissipated (who 
knows ?) like the frost of morning in the noonday sun of a 
larger experience. 

On the following morning Marion appeared on the scene, 
in her serene, unconscious beauty ; and I found myself 


126 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


deserted by Mr. Gregory, for the time being, notwithstand- 
ing tho entire indifference manifested by the object of his 
assiduities to his society. As to Madge, who was much 
the brighter of the two, and who from the first admired him 
conspicuously, he ignored her completely during his stay of 
three days, but returned to his first allegiance before he left 
Beauseincourt. I was lenient, not having interest enough 
in the property in question to be resentful. I received him 
kindly back again, which probably piqued his “ amour pro- 
pre,” as much as Marion’s indifference had done. He vented 
iiis petty spite against her in sneers like the following, too 
slight to be offensive, yet indicating, like other straws, the 
direction of the wind of his opinion. 

“ Miss Lavigne does not seem entirely * fancy free ; ’ she 
is evidently preoccupied. What barbarian of this region 
does she most affect ? ” or is she flaccid from being kept con- 
stantly in the vacuum of her own ideas ? ” 

“ You are severe, Mr. Gregory,” I replied. “ Miss 
Lavigne is a reserved, but very sensible young lady. She 
has several lovers, however, towards none of whom, it seems 
to me, does she ‘ seriously incline/ ” 

“ Ah, one of your female snow-images, which are difficult 
to thaw, but which, after all, melt away to water beneath the 
ardent rays of some man’s affection — not worth pursuing. 
Give me rather a draught of wine, your pure Falerneau ; I 
admire the grand, enthusiastic, high-souled order of women,” 
bending upon me approving ej r es, — “women that are unto 
others as is wine to water ; such as we rarely see, in short.” 

il The order is very limited, then, Mr. Gregory,” I rejoined, 
smiling at the flat termination of his glowing sentence, 
caused perhaps by the cool scrutiny with which I regarded 
him as he approached his climax. 

“Very, Miss Harz, unfortunately; one specimen, how- 
ever, naturalists tell us, will constitute an order,” bowing 
low, and laughing secretly, at the same time, with shaking 
shoulders, one of his peculiar fashions. 

“ You are a very mischievous person I fear, Mr. Gregory ! 
you forget how easily the heads of convent nuns and coun- 
try maidens are turned by the arts of the world. I warn you 
from the beginning, that every flattering word or expression 
dropped at Beauseincourt, is literally construed and received 
by its sisterhood. On this principle you will have to be 
very guarded, you see.” 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


127 


“ Do you mean to insinuate that I would dare, in such a 
presence,''’ another graceful bow, “ to be other than in ear- 
nest ? I wish, indeed, I were less so,” in low accents. 

A long-drawn sigh gave strength to this expression, and 
the limp hand was laid on the glossy vest, slightly to the 
left side, suggestively. 

“ Will you have the peppermint, Mr. Gregory?” inter- 
rogated Bertie gravely, from across the room, or will you 
have some of father's bitters ? ” rising, as if to procure them. 

“ Neither, I thank you, Miss Lavigne. You are very 
obliging, certainly,” with a derisive bow: then turning to 
me, he added, in a low tone, “ You are surrounded by 
strange elements, Miss Harz : how long do you think you 
can endure this incongruity ? That young person is sin- 
gularly simple, or simply singular, which is it ? ” 

“ You must find out for yourself, Mr. Gregory. Bertie 
means well, I think, on most occasions.” 

“Ah, probably so. She helps to pave the Inferno; is 
that your idea ? I will inquire of herself. Miss Bertie,” 
raising his voice before I could interfere to stay the inevi- 
table conflict, “ let me ask you how many bituminous 
bricks you may be supposed to have laid in the streets 
of Lucifer’s dominion in your time, not to uso a harsher 
term ? I ask merely for information,” drawling affectedly. 

“ Enough to scorch your feet, I hope, when you go 
there,” she replied promptly, with inexcusable rudeness, 
and without moving a muscle of her face, but with laugh- 
ing eyes. 

- ** You will share my promenade, I hope, Miss Bertie,” 

nothing disconcerted, and evidently amused. 

“ Not if I can help it, Mr. Gregory. You may be the one 
appointed to torture me, however, for aught I know. If so, 
I can’t help myself. I suppose Lucifer, as you call him, will 
settle that. 

“ Wonderfully sharp, I declare,” he exclaimed, falling 
back affectedly in his chair, and laughing literally with his 
shoulders. “ I had no idea she understood my reference. 
She is a treasure-trove in this howling wilderness. You 
must have been training her on the Scythian principle, Miss 
Ilarz ; to tell the truth, and do battle from her childhood.” 

•* I have not been here quite long enough to influence 
Bertie’s inclinations, Mr. Gregory ; you must give her 
Huguenot blood some credit for these. She is a very good 
friend to secure, I assure you, nevertheless.” 


128 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


“ But I shall never secure her,” he rejoined, shaking his 
head dolefully. “ There is natural antagonism there ; 1 saw 
it from the first. Her large, strange eyes looked several 
times as though they would devour me, and you also,” — 
turning suddenly upon me, — “ I do believe your instincts, 
too, are all against me. — Now confess. What! silent? 
Then I know my doom,” playing with my knitting-ball as 
ho spoke. 

“ The fact is, Miss narz, after a pause, I am the most 
unfortunate fellow in the world in that respect. I prepossess 
nobody but parsons and old maids. My life is a constant 
game of ‘chickamy, chickamy craney crow/ I cling des- 
perately to the skirts of those who turn their backs on me. 
My skirts are on the contrary seized and clung to, pertina- 
ciously from behind, by those I can’t endure, and from whom 
I fly. So there is an endless procession and persecution.” 

“ But parsons and old maids are the salt of the earth, you 
know, and you are honored by their selection.” 

“ Not the attic salt, certainly, and I care not a whit for 
any other sort. There, I have impulsively spoken the truth, 
and shocked you.” 

“So you think the truth would shock me ? Oh, no, not 
at all. Believe me, it is no stranger ; nor is the language 
of badinage entirely new to me, notwithstanding my warn- 
ing awhile ago. I, like yourself, have unfortunately seen 
something of the world.” 

“ 1 knew it at a glance,” pausing awhile, for farther revela- 
tions perhaps ; then, unable to restrain his curiosity, boldly 
bursting out into interrogatories as quaintly put as imperti- 
nent. 

“ May I ask where you located your * field of the cloth of 
gold/ or what your arena was, or who constituted your par- 
ticipants in the tilting-match at the tournament of fashion ? ” 

“ No, Mr. Gregory, never, with my permission, can you 
ask these questions ; or, at least, you must be content to 
let them pass unanswered,” I replied gravely, taking my ball 
from his hands at the same time, and turning coldly away. 

“ There is a mystery there,” he pursued, bending his head 
confidentially, so as to peep into my averted face: “make 
me your father confessor, I humbly implore. You will find 
me the most discreet of men. The interest with which you 
inspireme” — 

“ Is amply returned,” I retorted, laughing the next 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


129 


moment at my own comprehensive rejoinder, then adding, 

Spare me the melodrama, if you please, Mr. Gregory. 
My story is very commonplace, like Canning’s poor knife- 
grinder’s ; it would not entertain you at all. You recollect 
the famous ‘Story? Lord bless you, I have none to tell, 
sir ! ’ 1 am here to make my living, as you are, I suppose, 

to make yours, in an honorable fashion, and I trust we may 
both succeed. That is all we need mutually care about.” 

“ So young, so practical, and so sceptical ! ” he mur- 
mured. But there was an end of the subject. 

After this he expanded. Certainly, few men could be more 
agreeable than he was to strangers when he exerted himself, 
as he did disinterestedly, during the rest of that day and 
evening for their benefit and entertainment. He left us the 
next morning, to be the guest of Mr. de Bonville, to whom 
he had brought letters of recommendation ; and I missed 
him sorely. The dreariness of Beauseincourt fell around us 
again like a mantle. Marion was the only one who did not 
deplore his departure, and miss his animated presence. 
Even Colonel Lavigne remarked, in his pompous way, 
standing on the rug at evening*, — 

“I think Gregory will pass even among Southerners. 
There is no taint of trade about him, which is much in his 
favor, nothing dapper, no trace of the primitive Yankee. 
I beg your pardon, Miss Harz,” bending his head court- 
eously, “ I sometimes forget that you are of that ilk, or 
rather race of people. I hope you feel the implied compli- 
ment.” 

“Oh, deeply, Colonel Lavigne, — the intention of it, 
rather.” 

“There, father, you have hurt Miss Miriam’s feelings 
again,” said Madge, coming to the rescue. “ I declare, 
for a man of your tact ” — 

“ Tact, my dear ! What question is there of tact where 
I am concerned ? I never pretend to make a trade of good 
breeding. ' Noblesse oblige/ you know. Tact, forsooth.” 

This was not the first time I had heard this oracular 
utterance from the lips of Colonel Lavigne. It was with 
him a usual and comprehensive saying. 

“ To tell you the truth,” said I, flushing a little, “ I 
have no right to take up Yankee cudgels for I am purely 
of English descent, and have no relations that are not.” 

“ Why did you not say so before ? ” asked Colonel La- 
8 


130 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


vigne, wheeling on his heels with his hands behind him, — 
a military movement which he executed with great pre- 
cision whenever surprised, — then, without waiting for an 
answer, he went on, “That makes every difference. Pure 
English descent, hey! There is something of the John 
Bull about you, I believe, upon reflection; but you don’t 
look Saxon any more than Yankee. I might take you for 
an Italian, a Spanish woman, or even a Louisiana lady ; 
though 77 — 

“ My Jewish blood asserts itself, it seems. ” 

“ Oh, that is the idea, upon my word ! I should never 
have suspected it ; but, now that you speak of it, there is an 
expression about the eyes, the bridge of the nose not wide 
enough, however .’ 7 He stood, inspecting me as though 
I had been “trotted out for sale , 77 just as he did on that 
first morning in the Mansion House Hotel. The blood rose 
to my brow. 

“ Now that you know my descent, Colonel Lavigne, you 
can abuse the Yankees to your heart’s content ; 77 and, gath- 
ering up my knitting-work quietly, I left him master of the 
scene of action. 

“Father is a perfect barbarian , 77 said Bertie, who had 
sat quietly under the infliction of his blundering politeness, 
as she insinuated her hand in mine on the stairway, which 
we were ascending together on the way to our chamber. 
“ I am so sick of that hackneyed saying, ‘ Noblesse oblige . 7 
He applies it constantly. But it is the motto or one of the 
mottoes of our house, you know . 77 

“ No, I did not know, Bertie. I thought it was a com- 
mon saying, applicable to the necessities entailed by rank 
and honor . 77 

“Well, perhaps you are right; I wish * Noblesse 7 did 
not * oblige , 7 sometimes though. I can’t see the use of for- 
ever throwing up one’s blood in other people’s faces, and 
spattering their very garments with it. Let it stay where 
it properly belongs . 77 

“ What a strange, shocking turn of expression, Bertie ! 
You should be more careful in your images.” 

“ I mean just what I say, — vomiting blood forever, — there 
now ! 77 defiantly and resolutely. “ I believe in forgetting 
all about our viscera when we are in good society,” adding 
in low tones, “ particularly when our blood seethes black 
in our veins below.” 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


131 


“It is you that are coarse and barbarous now, Bertie. ” 

“ Well, ‘ I was born so, mother/ as the hunchback said. 
Is not that a good excuse, or reason rather ? I suppose I 
am a Lavigne to the backbone ; they all say so. The rest 
are Benoits, a gentle and plebeian race, according to the 
record. Mother looks like a lady, every inch of her, though, 
don’t she, Miss Harz ? And father — well, after all, there 
is something lordly about him, in his way — the old 
Crusader.” 

I understood what Bertie meant, though I could scarcely 
follow her enthusiasms. Colonel Lavigne had indeed a face 
and figure both that seemed to have belonged to a past age, 
when beauty was more grand and characteristic than now, 
and ugliness more heroic and grotesque. He had, too, a 
certain knightly air, and I could well imagine his stiff figure 
in a suit of armor, as quite impressive. 

The very books he loved he seemed to have read in some 
contemporaneous condition that imbued his more perfectly 
with their genius and intention (so foreign from our time, 
so uncongenial to the modern turn of thought) than any 
other mind I have ever known. 

As simply and confidingly as though he had moved among 
the living authors, he read and spoke of Cervantes, Bacon, 
and Sir Thomas Browne; he revelled in the “ Arcadia ” 
of Sir Philip Sidney; he loved that dreary book, “The 
Anatomy of Melancholy,” that should only be taken in 
homoeopathic doses ; and delighted in “ Sir Isaac Walton,” 
and “ Rabelais.” He rebuked me several times, I remem- 
ber, for my distaste to some of these authors, my complete 
ignorance of others, my general indifference to ancient 
learning. 

“ Life is not long enough for all,” I answered ; “ and, with 
the exception of the old dramatists, I have found nothing 
farther back than Sir Walter Scott that I took the least 
interest in reading. There was doubtless genius in those old 
books, which has been developed by master minds in mod- 
ern days. They were filled with uncut gems, valueless in 
the original, which have been polished and taught to sparkle 
by our great eighteenth and nineteenth century lapidaries.” 

These remarks settled the matter, as well as his opinion 
of me. He persecuted me no more on the subject of my lit- 
erary tastes, which he despised ; yet I sincerely respected 


132 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


his, believing them to be a portion of his temperament, and 
the most genuine thing about him. 

Perhaps I err in this assertion, after all. His individuality 
pervaded every act of his life, whether for good or evil ; and 
had he been less natural, less himself, it might have fared 
better for his family, and even for his own soul. Certainly, 
he had his good qualities. There was no better, or at least 
more forbearing husband and father, no kiuder master, no 
more generous provider for the wants of all of his dependants, 
to be found in any position. 

After becoming used to his peculiarities, he was not 
unpleasant, either, as host or guest ; and his ideas of cour- 
tesy, if narrow and egotistical, were still consistent and lofty. 
His patronizing ways were simply amusing to me, knowing 
how childishly dependent and communicative he could be at 
times, and had proved himself to be, even in my case. 

That he was possessed of mania, I believed firmly in the 
beginning of my acquaintance with him. But, as I have 
said elsewhere, this idea retreated before my pursuing mind 
more and more as time rolled on, and revealed glimpses of 
character unsuspected in the beginning. Yet to the last he 
remained to me a problem and mystery, which I have never 
yet been able to solve or to dispel, — a breathing anomaly, 
a human labyrinth without a clue, a law unto himself, to be 
resolved in impotence. 


BOOK THIRD. 


“Beseech you, sir, be merry; you have cause, 
So have we all, for joy of this escape.” 


Tempest. 


“ Sir Eglamour, a thousand times good-morrow ! 
****** 

Here comes Boyet, and mirth is in his face.” 

SHAKESPEARE. 


“ Heavy and sick within me is my heart; 

These walls breathe on me like a churchyard vault; 

I cannot tell you how this place doth go 
Against my nature. 

The place’s evil omens will I change.” 

Wallenstein. 


“She, too, while gazing on those eyes 
That sink into her soul so deep, 

Forgets all fears, all miseries, 

Or feels them like the wretch in Bleep, 

Whom fancy cheats into a smile.” 

Moore. 


“ There is a festival where knights and dames, 

And aught that wealth or lofty lineage claims, 

Appear — a highborn and a welcome guest, 

In Otho’s hall — came Lara with the rest. 

* * * * * 

On Lara’s glance emotion gathering grew, 

As if distrusting that the stranger threw. 

Along the stranger’s aspect fixed and stern, 

Flashed more than thence the vulgar eye could learn.” 

Byron’s Lara. 


BOOK THIRD 


CHAPTER VIII. 



)HRISTMAS approached. Nowhere else does this 
festival occasion more rejoicing, than on a Southern 
plantation. It is the happy privilege of the planter 
to diffuse gladness over his whole domain at this 
season of universal gratulation, and the pleasure and 
happiness of the slave is reflected in the heart and 
on the countenance of its author. 

Colonel Lavigne had never appeared to such advantage in 
my eyes as when employed in carrying out his benevolent 
schemes for the comfort and enjoyment of his sable depend- 
ants. A man with one foot already planted upon the verge 
of the abyss of ruin, and hurried on by a doom that sooner 
or later must irresistibly overwhelm him, paused, as it 
seemed to me, to confer benefits before taking the fatal leap, 
oblivious of his own extremity. This was a poetic view of 
the subject, doubtless : yet I entertained it feelingly, and it 
helped to erase, or rather cover over, some impressions that 
had been received, perhaps too hastily ; for the human mind 
is not precisely in this respect like the palimpsest of the 
ancients, a parchment to be cleansed and rewritten at will. 

It was a delightful sight, certainly, and one not readily 
forgotten, — that of the mother, cheerful, active, benevolent, 
still handsome, surrounded by her fair young daughters, 
each and all absorbed in one common work of charity and 


affection. 

The great gallery running across the rear of the house was 
the scene of action, and the courtyard below was crowded 

( 135 ) 


136 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


with expectant faces. I recognized that day, for the firsi 
time, how patriarchal was this Southern institution when 
governed by humanity, and could comprehend better than I 
had done before, how hard it must seem to cut the “ Gordian 
knot,” as I had audaciously counselled Madam Lavigne to 
do, on two occasions, it may be remembered. 

“ No, they are right,” 1 thought, “ to sink or swim with 
these confiding creatures. Never again, perhaps, would 
these slaves know happiness, if scattered now. The feudal 
feeling prevails in the true Southern heart, in spite of law ; 
and the serf is the * son of the soil/ in more senses than 
one.” 

It was a cheerless, sunless morning, I remember, that 
which preceded Christmas Day at Beauseincourt. The first 
wintry weather prevailed then that I had felt in Georgia 
(mild as the autumn had been) ; and as we stood on the gal- 
lery, engaged in measuring off and dispensing goods, we were 
thoroughly chilled, though wrapped in shawls. But the 
piles of gay-colored prints, shawls, woollens, and head-hand- 
kerchiefs around us almost took the place of sunlight, and 
reminded me of the many-colored leaves, wanting here, of 
our gorgeous northern autumnal forests, drifting beneath 
the trees after early frosts. 

There were flannels and shawls of all colors for the old ; 
ribbons and dresses as diversified for the young, who looked 
forward to many a night of carnival, during the week of holi- 
day, in the great quarter kitchen. 

The women in the courtyard stood in a group apart from 
the men, conveniently to the house ; so that each one could 
approach in turu, and receive from the hand of the mistress 
her allotted presents (there was, as I have said, a variety to 
suit all recipients), with a kind Christmas greeting, heartily 
and respectfully returned. 

The effect thus produced was singularly striking. The 
plantation uniform was blue and white, relieved by gay 
headkerchiefs, principally of crimson and yellow. I seemed 
to look down on a parterre of mixed hyacinths, variegated 
tulips, and dark-hearted poppies, as I beheld them. The dis- 
play of ivory might have put to shame a herd of Ceylon 
elephants. There were bright eyes and beaming faces 
uplifted to our gaze, that would have made an abolitionist 
gnash his teeth, and tear his hair ; and happy, irresponsible 
hearts behind them beat in unison. 


MIRIAMS MEMOIRS, 


137 


But all was orderly, decorous, and quiet in this group of 
women. A little, low, tittering laughter there was, some 
whispering, bantering, and comparing of presents, an occa- 
sional cry of an impatient child borne in its mother’s arms, or 
hanging at her skirts ; but, beyond this, all was subdued and 
quiet. So much for feminine tact, whatever the degree. 

The men, contrary to all legendary lore, were not as a 
body as dignified, by any means, as the women, on this 
occasion so trying to reticence. Their emphatic, and inva- 
riable thankee, Master, thankee,” in return for every 
gift, was uttered loudly, and followed by animated discus- 
sions among themselves, and often uproarious guffaws. 
They gathered in a dingy looking crowd around the steps of 
the plantation store-room, on the platform of which, before 
the open door, Colonel Lavigne had taken his stand, with his 
assistant and prime minister, Jura, at his side. Thence he 
distributed tobacco, whiskey, overcoats, Sunday shoes and 
hats, whips, fireworks, and last, not least, powder and 
shot; for many of the men surrounding him, those most 
trusted, possessed guns, with which, after the hours of 
allotted labor, they brought down the game of the season, 
which smoked habitually on their master’s board, and for 
which they were always paid in goods, both liberally and 
promptly. 

There were about sixty of these men in number, as well as 
I could compute, the “ hands ” being finished off by a plenti- 
ful fringing of boys, the “ supes ” of a plantation, only called 
on in times of need, and employing most of their valuable 
leisure in fishing, inventing, and setting bird-traps, and in 
’possum and coon hunting. Specimens of the ragamuffin 
were these, unequalled even by the Gamin of Paris, and so 
far undescribed. 

The men were comfortably but coarsely clad in their 
usual working-clothes, consisting of loose, ill-fitting gray 
garments, baggy cotton shirts, well-worn wool hats and 
scow-shaped boots, cumbrous and cladhopping. They had 
the usual lounging, shambling gait of the field negro, 
wherever seen, and I observed King stepping about among 
them like a mulatto prince, so different was his mien, so 
superior his action and attire. It amused me to draw the 
contrast, and note what differences civilization made, even 
among these Pariahs. 

Just as the interest of the crowd of men seemed concen- 


138 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


trated upon some scarlet blankets, which J ura was holding 
up before them by his master’s directions, the huge bear, 
Muinbo, with his chain rattling behind him was seen making 
his way vigorously among the sturdy legs, that scattered at 
his approach in a panic that was at first diverting. His object 
was soon apparent ; he was in search of his master alone ; 
and climbing the steps of the store-room clumsily, he was 
soon seen standing on his hind legs beside him in his favor- 
ite position, one that had never failed to inspire me with 
terror. He was poised now, as before described, with his 
fore paws resting on his master’s shoulders, while he gaped 
above him open-mouthed, revealing his red, lolling tongue 
and savage teeth. 

“ Down, Mumbo, down,” said Colonel Lavigne, angrily, 
his face darkening as he Spoke, and he struck the bear as 
he pushed him off with a bar of lead he held in his right 
hand. 

The blow must have enraged the beast, unused to be so 
Tepelled, for, with a fierce growl, he turned, still staggering 
on his hind legs, and clenched his master, hugging him closely 
in his formidable embrace, and compelling him, by the sud- 
denness of his assault, to drop his weapon of defence. The 
whole occurrence occupied but a moment ; the catastrophe 
seemed inevitable. 

“ He will be killed ! ray husband will be killed ! ” shrieked 
Madame Lavigne. 

“ Oh, father ! father ! ” burst from the terrified girls, as 
they stretched their arms towards him from their own pro- 
tected position, helpless to save, and agonized to see. 

I stood with straining eyes, cold and immovable as 
stone. Bertie alone was equal to the emergency. After 
the pause of a second, she dashed forward like a “ menaid” 
(I could compare her to nothing else), her tawny, yellow 
hair floating behind her, that look in her eye of desperate 
resolve, I have seen in no others, her lips set, her cheek 
burning, her nostril dilated, and every nerve and muscle 
strung to their utmost tension. 

“I have the knife!” she cried, holding it up as she 
flashed by me. “ Where is Ossian ? ” 

At the sound of his name the dog came bounding after 
her, and she disappeared in the crowd of men, who once 
more had closed around the store-room steps, one or two 
of whom were now vainly trying to drag off the bear by 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


139 


tugging at the chain. Under and over these Ossian sprang, 
just as the chain gave way, hurling back those who held 
it into the arms of the crowd behind. Another moment, 
and his fangs had found the throat of the shaggy monster, 
and he was throttling him to his death. 

Then, as a diver emerges from the sea beside a startled 
boat’s crew, we saw with fear and amazement indescribable 
the small, slight figure of Bertie rise, as if floating upwards 
from the mass of heads about the steps, and uplifted by 
invisible hands, stand securely on the platform beside her 
father, still in the direful embrace of his adversary. 

Colonel Lavighe was livid with exhaustion, I saw, as he 
turned his face towards her ; but in another moment he had 
grasped the bowie-knife with his disengaged hand and 
buried the blade to the haft in the breast of the infuriated 
animal. Whirling then almost instantly from the tenacious 
grip of Ossian, (and who that has seen a Newfoundland dog of 
great size and strength but remembers the persistent hold of 
that inexorable jaw ?) the bear freed himself from his relent- 
less grasp by the power of his own dying weight, and fell 
heavily to the ground across the low side-railing, which he 
crushed beneath him as he went over, and lay there bleed- 
ing and senseless, if not wholly dead. The dog leaped after 
him in the next moment, but Colonel Lavigne, stepping for- 
ward to the edge of the platform, warned him off* sternly. 

“ Take Ossian off, boys,” he commanded, seeing the dog 
inclined to disobey him : “1 will not have Mumbo worried in 
his last moments ; put a pistol to his head, rather,” handing 
his to King, who joyfully fulfilled his mandate. 

“ Silence, there ; I have a word to say to every one of 
you,” he thundered ; and the gaping crowd was still as 
though electrified. “ Now listen to me ; if any one among 
you know who loosed that bear, come up and inform this 
moment, and receive this reward,” holding up before them 
a doubloon. 

There was a slight stir perceptible, but no reply, no indi- 
vidual movement. 

“ I seed him, Masta, wen he broke his chain hisself,” 
said a wee voice at last from the crowd, recognized as that 
of Sip, the bootblack. 

“ 1 suppose that is the end of it,” said Colonel Lavigne, 
cooil V repocketing his gold. “ Well, I have saved twenty 
dollars ; but somebody will get an infernal whipping yet : ” 


140 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


and with this empty menace, Colonel Lavigne limped across 
the courtyard, after descending the steps cautiously, assist- 
ed by Jura, to be received in the arms of his sobbing wife 
and daughters. But Bertie had been removed, terribly 
nerve-shaken as she was, to the quiet of her chamber, where 
under my surveillance, she was left undisturbed for a time, 
as she entreated might be the case. 

Jura had stood unflinchingly by his master during the 
whole conflict, at first beating the bear ineffectually over the 
head and shoulders with the bar of lead, that had dropped 
from his master’s hand ; afterwards, with more success, 
thrusting it down his gaping throat, to prevent him from 
tearing his victim. But he was an old and feeble man, and 
could not long have aided him in maintaining the unequal 
struggle. The men below had behaved very badly, it 
seemed to me, in not more promptly seconding his efforts in 
his master’s behalf, like a set of cowardly ruffians even. But 
this, I was assured, was only a matter of temperament. 
Negroes, as a class, have little presence of mind and are 
sluggish until fairly aroused, even the best of them, nor are 
their sympathies readily enlisted. It is in the qualities of 
promptness, energy, and forethought, that the white race 
must always assert supremacy, if, indeed, we could enter- 
tain the thought for a moment that other attributes might be 
equalized. God has not set his mark of color, shape, and 
odor in vain ; and it is flying in the face of Deity himself, 
to refuse to acknowledge his sign-manual, as a means of 
everlasting distinction. 

But this is no place for digression, or discussion. In a 
space of time much shorter than that I have taken to describe 
it in, this whole scene was enacted. The knife, let me here 
observe, was one Colonel Lavigne habitually carried about 
him, but which he had left on the floor of the gallery, after 
using it to sever a rope that morning which bound a pack- 
age, and to the quick observation of Bertie, he was indebted 
for his life. 

The bear was buried by Colonel Lavigne’s command, and 
in his own presence. For some reason he could not endure 
to have the remains of Mumbo treated like common brute 
flesh, made a barbecue of, whereon to feed negroes, or given 
to the birds of the air, or beasts of prey, — so sacred even 
after his rebellion and self-sought end, was the carcass of 
his dead hobby. 


Mini AW S MEMOIRS. 


141 


There were rumors dark and deep, however, Bertie whis- 
pered, as to the fate of Mumbo’s corse, that amused me no 
little, but which fortunately never reached the ears of the 
master, being carefully suppressed by those arch-allies, Sip 
and King, and confidentially related by Sylphy. Sip had 
overheard the quarter negroes say, however (Sip, who had 
magnanimously foresworn himself about the breaking of 
Mumbo’s chain, in order to save a guilty party from stern 
interrogatories), that Uncle Quimbo (one of their Delphic 
oracles) had “ done said as how a little clean yerf nebber 
hurt good meat yet, but some how ’proved its savor ; any- 
how, dat bar Jumbo done libbed off de fat ob de lan’ long 
enough to be a mighty sweet morsel to roll under nigger’s 
tongue, an’ day gwine to try him on de occasion ob de fust 
quarter ball, for de benefit ob de public. He was a mighty 
wicked varmint, anyhow, dat Mumbo ; but his turn clone 
cum at las’ like any odder nigger’s,” ending with the inevi- 
table “ yah, yah ! ” Whereupon Sylphy wittily added, as 
she informed us, “ T’anks to de gracious King ! ” As to the 
worthy last punningly alluded to by the plantation belle, he 
had the laugh on his own side now, after seeing the “ scat- 
teration ” that the appearance of the bear had effected 
among the crowd of men who had, before then, been in the 
habit of taunting him unmercifully about his own evident 
fear of the beast. But his practical joke had proved far 
more tragical than he could have anticipated, when he slyly 
unlocked the chain and drove the beast out of his haunting- 
place, to avenge himself by playing upon the terrors of his 
companions. 

I will pass over all that was said on this occasion on the 
subject of Bertie’s prowess. She herself would brook no 
eulogiums, and turned white and sick, whenever the subject 
was named. 

“ Don’t talk about heroism,” she entreated, “ in connec- 
tion with such a matter ; I could not help doing what I did, 
any more than the rest could help standing still. I go where 
the blast carries me, like a dead leaf. I myself, am nothing 
but a poor, impulsive, helpless creature, God knows, of no 
use to anybody, not even myself. To be called fine names, 
sinks me in my own opinion, and makes me ridiculous in that 
of others. Let me alone on this subject, for pity’s sake.” 

Thus she appealed to her sisters, not without more temper 
than the occasion demanded. She stamped her foot slightly, 


142 • 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


1 remember, in her impatient embarrassment (a foot so 
arched and elegantly formed, that it seemed imperial in its 
very moulding), and covering her face with her hands wept 
aloud in the next moment, such was her inconsistency. 

So it was agreed among us that Bertie should be “ let 
alone, ” as she desired to be, by all but Colonel Lavigne, 
who would make no conditions or compromise of the sort. 

“ I might as well be morbid myself about the affair,” he 
urged, “having been nearly shaken to death by that mon- 
ster, as Bertie, who did nothing but hand me a knife, which 
came, I must say, at the right moment, and was oppor- 
tunely thought of, all must acknowledge. Yet, after all, 
the dog was the chief assistance. I will get him a silver 
collar for his New-Year’s gift, and it shall have an inscrip- 
tion on it commemorating his fidelity and courage. Do you 
hear that, Ossian, my boy ? ” And stooping stiffly, he 
patted the great, noble creature, whose eyes glistened with 
joy and gratitude. 

They were a fine study at that moment ; the strange- 
looking, tawny man, with his face ablaze, as it rarely was, 
with vivid expression, and the superb, intelligent dog who 
seemed to value a touch from his master’s hand beyond 
the fondest caress from any other. 

Whence came the strange control that this master exerted 
alike over man and beast, quiet and undemonstrative as 
was his manner to all around him, and absent and self- 
absorbed as seemed his usual demeanor ? Was there, after 
all, in that dark, sophistic breast, some latent glimmering 
of Promethean fire ; some vestige of the heroes from whom 
he claimed descent ? 

Godfrey Lavigne had signalized himself in Palestine as a 
warrior and a leader. His grim old portrait hung in the 
saloon, — a characteristic effigy, very suggestive, however, 
to the imagination. On his banner was a vine-leaf, and 
the inscription “ Sous Lavigne,” which had become the 
watchword of his race, as it was the battle-cry of a host 
that sent terror to the Saracen. Did anything of this genius 
of command indeed lurk in his descendant ? Was it truly, 
as he had said, the destiny of all who came in contact with 
him to be “ Sous Lavigne ? ” 

These thoughts passed quickly through my brain as I 
saw him standing above Ossian, with an air of stateliness 
of which not even his grotesque oddities could rob him, — 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


143 


a mixture which made the later remark of a wicked wag, 
who said that he always seemed to him a “ cross between 
Pharaoh and Punchinello / ’ very clear to my comprehension. 
I think, though, I should have substituted “ Powhatan ” 
for the Egyptian King, as even more pointed and charac- 
teristic. 

VVe were sitting around the crackling wood fire on Christ- 
mas eve, which, in honor of the occasion, though the family 
was, so far, alone, had been kindled in the many- windowed, 
white-curtained drawing-room, bright with its numerous 
wax lights, and had just drawn ourselves into a snug home 
circle around the immense Aubusson rug, with its group of 
tigers at play (wonderfully lifelike), which in wintertime 
relieved the bare parquet, and added greatly to human 
comfort, when a thundering rap at the front door startled 
us every one, and brought the master of the house abruptly 
to his feet. 

It was seldom, indeed, at this season, that visitors came 
by night to Beauseincourt, and the intolerable weather that 
had set in since noon made such an advent more than 
usually remarkable. Guests had, it is true, been invited 
formally, according to ancient custom, for the celebration 
of New Year, but were not expected, the earliest of them, 
for several days yet, and the idea of being forestalled in her 
hospitable intentions fluttered Madame Lavigne visibly. 

“ I should not wonder at all if it were the Finesteres,” 
she said, nervously, to her husband; “they are always 
making mistakes, you know ; ” and she touched the spring- 
bell by the fireplace to summon Jura or King to attend the 
front door, where thundering raps on the massive, bronze 
vine-leaf that served as knocker and deformed its panels 
were still heard unintermittingly. 

“ What can those fellows be thinking about ? ” said 
Colonel Lavigne, peevishly, “ that they dor/t go forward 
and admit our visitors, who are standing so long in the 
rain ; ” and he rose stiffly from his chair a second time, 
observing, “I am hardly equal to the effort, used upas 
I am, of meeting those people in the hall ; but as there 
are none but ladies here, I suppose it can't be helped. No, 
you shall not stir, Louisa ; nor you Miss Harz ; nor any of 
you ; ;; waving his hand decisively towards his three elder 
daughters, all somewhat clamorously offering their services. 
“No, I will go myself; many a bear hunter in the Rocky 


144 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


Mountains receives worse injuries every day ; ” and just as 
he was preparing to set forth on this enterprise, encouraged 
by the rather irrelevant comparison he had just drawn, 
which nearly convulsed me with suppressed merriment, the 
door was opened, and two guests were ushered in, dismally 
as usual, by the ceremonious Jura, who announced them as 
“ Major Fabrand and anoder gentleman. ” 

During the tumult within, they had been quietly admitted, 
and relieved of their overcoats, hats, etc., by the men in 
waiting in the hall. Immediate stillness of course pre- 
vailed. 

“ Walk in, gentlemen ; glad to see you back again, Fav- 
rand. Where and how is Celia ?” said Colonel Lavigne, 
limping forward with extended hands to greet his guests. 

“ Oh, she went home by the carriage route ; decidedly 
the best, you know, though the longest by twenty miles. 
She must have reached Bellevue yesterday. In trying 
to take the short cut, we find ourselves benighted, and feel 
compelled, to-night, to claim your hospitality. This is Cap- 
tain Wentworth, Colonel Lavigne, a friend of Walter’s,” 
drawing his companion forward as he spoke. “ He meant 
to come here first, even had I gone on home. He is the 
bearer of credentials from your son, which he is in haste 
to deliver, as I have not been to present him, I am ashamed 
to confess.” 

The two gentlemen thus introduced now shook hands 
heartily on the strength of this information. 

“ I am happy to see any friend of Walter’s, our own dear 
boy. I should have gone out to meet you when you first 
knocked, rather than have allowed you to wait for my lazy 
varlets, but for having been stiffened up a little to-day in a 
conflict with a bear, a monstrous brute, by the bye, from 
which I deserved ” — 

“ Really, Lavigne, you are coming out in your old age,” 
interrupted Major Favrand, merrily, “ Where did you un- 
earth the monster ? I have not heard of a bear in Lesder- 
nier for a century, except your tame abomination. But 
you will tell us all about it after awhile. For my part I am 
‘ a-cold,’ like Keats’s owl, ‘ for all my feathers and if you 
and Wentworth will insist on a mysterious tete-a-tete in 
Siberia, I must leave you for a more torrid zone, for I 
assure you it rains,” emphasizing the last word and shrug- 
in g his shoulders shiveringly as he came forward to the 
fire. 


MIRIAMS MEMOIRS. 


145 


“ There is no mistaking of the intention of the clerk of the 
weather this time : it is as broad as the Irishman’s hint. 
How are you, Louisa?” shaking her hand mechanically, 
1 thought. “ How are all of these dear girls ? ” giving 
each one in turn a brief hand-shaking and pat ou the shoul- 
ders, with a kiss to Louey, less conventional. 

“ Oh, how delightful this is to a poor storm-beaten wan- 
derer, ‘ fresh from the midnight heath ! ’ What is there 
like fire ? It is the soul of the universe, I believe, with the 
Persians,” warming his feet as he faced us, by lifting the 
introverted sole of each alternately to the flame, so as to 
shift his poise continuously, yet never lose it. “ 1 am thaw- 
ing out rapidly. The reptile will soon be himself again, 
Louisa, I am happy to say. I understand, at last, how 
moths feel when they dance right into the candle. I am 
bewildered myself by all this light, warmth and beauty. 
What a galaxy of stars you have about you, my dear Louisa ; 
and there is a new constellation, 1 see,” dropping his voice. 
“ Introduce me, forthwith ; I am charmed.” 

“ Miss Harz, Major Favrand,” said Madame Lavigne, 
rather stiffly, in which fashion I bowed. 

“ Miss Hart ! Is it possible ? ” and he turned to me with 
empressement. “ You must let me shake hands with you, 
my dear young lady, out of regard for your antecedents. 
In one sense we are old acquaintances already ; yet I 
cannot see the least resemblance to anyone of your family ; 
not even to Frank, the darkest and best-looking of all but 
yourself. Yours must be quite a new face in the household. 
Where did you procure it ? ” 

In my bewilderment I had accorded to him my hand, 
which he shook briefly ; but I felt from the first sentence 
that he labored under a mistake, which 1 would set right as 
soon as possible. In the meantime his voluble stream of 
talk overwhelmed me. 

“ Strange to see a lady of your fashion domesticated in 
this ‘jumping-off place,’ for so I call Losdernier, in spite 
of my wife’s predilection for it. I cannot wonder, though, 
that you are contented, now that you are here, and in such 
a circle,” glancing approvingly around. “ By the bye, 
Louisa, while I think of it, where in the name of common 
humanity is your Yankee governess ? I hope you do not 
condemn her to solitary confinement on sponge and slate 
pencils ; if she is a little apple-cheeked and milkmaidish, 

9 


146 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


or lantern-jawed andbookwormish, those are the two several 
approved styles, I believe, up there/ ’ 

He here came voluntarily to a sudden halt, looking towards 
Madame Lavigne for an answer that never came. The pause 
was intense, and I was just about to relieve the restraint of 
all by declaring myself the missing and injured party, and 
sotting right his mistake, when Louey suddenly advanced 
towards him and drawing his head down whispered some- 
thing in his ear. He started as though he had been shot, 
and there was a suppressed titter among the girls, in which 
I joined inwardly, though pitying him extremely. The posi- 
tion was not an enviable one. 

“ God bless my soul! ” he ejaculated impulsively. 

“ Don’t you wish the floor would open and swallow you 
up, Cousin Victor ? ” Bertie asked maliciously. But strange 
to say, this apparently rude and irrevelant speech relieved 
his embarrassment more than a more courteous one could 
have done under the circumstances. 

“ I do indeed, Bertie,” he responded amiably ; “but, un- 
fortunately, the age of miracles has passed ; besides, you 
have no cellars. All I can do is to throw myself on feminine 
mercy. You must all plead for me, every one of you. Tell 
her that I am the greatest rattlebrain in Christendom, and 
habitually array myself in cap and bells. Tell her there 
have been hints in my case about the State Asylum,” tap- 
ping his head significantly. “ Plead lunacy, anything, so 
that peace be established, and that right quickly ; or will 
you permit me to explain and apologize in person, Miss 
Hart ? ” wheeling abruptly towards me with a most peni- 
tential expression of face. 

“ Nothing of the sort is necessary, Major Favrand. I see 
perfectly the cause of your mistake. My name is Harz, not 
Hart. The difference is so slight as to have made the error 
a natural one.” 

“ Especially as I expected fully to see Madeline Hart here 
this Christmas, by invitation.” 

“She has declined the visit, Cousin Victor, declined at 
the last hour, ” said Madge, from across the room. 

“ Louisa, why in the name of common sense didn’t you 
tell me that? ” he remonstrated, “ and pronounce more dis- 
tinctly the final z,” hissing it out like a serpent. “ It is all 
your fault, Louisa, and I shall never forgive you, if Miss 
Harz never forgives me. But she has a benign face, and I 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


147 


believe may begin to hope for pardon ; may I not, Miss 
Harz ? ” 

“ Again I must assure you, Major Favrand, I have nothing 
to forgive. I am not even a Yankee, and beyond that impu- 
tation, there is everything to thank you for. Your eloquent 
pleading in favor of imprisoned governesses, and your 
.pathetic description of their diet, would alone claim my eter- 
nal gratitude, were I the subject of such treatment, which, 
fortunately, I am not, as you perceive.” 

“ No, indeed, no schoolroom that ever was invented would 
hold you after school hours, I am sure, more than ten min- 
utes,” he said, approaching me laughingly. “ You would 
fly out of the windows, even if they secured the door, on the 
wings of your will. My own private belief is, that you are 
' America Vespucci’ in disguise, or some other distinguished 
personage, — no schoolmarm at all. Lady Morgan’s Prin- 
cess broke loose, perhaps, out of her book of the Boudoir. 
(Now don’t say I get things all mixed up, I entreat ! ) Mad- 
eline Hart, indeed, with her blue eyes and light hair ! 
Where is your noted discrimination, Victor Favrand ? ” smit- 
ing his brow. 

“ But to be serious, my dear young lady, I thought it 
strange one of that essentially practical race, could ever 
come to have “l’air distingue et romanesque ” that char- 
acterizes your exterior. I see by the flash of your eye that 
you understand French. A very pleasant alternative, some- 
times, when one departs from the beaten track of thought, 
and needs new channels for communication. The little nice- 
ties of that tongue are most delightful. As a lawyer, I 
learned to appreciate it, the legal terms are so clear and defi- 
nite and subtle all at once. Such is our want of precision, 
that we have been obliged to adopt many delicate meanings, 
you know, even in our social system. But all that is a 
matter of course. How do you like them all — these cousins 
of mine, I mean, — old 'noblesse oblige,’ Count Prosper, as 
his neighbors call him, and the rest ? ” bending low to ask 
this question, to which no answer was permitted by the 
suddenness with which he jerked his head up again. 

Without expecting a reply, probably, he continued : 

“The girls, — gentle things, aren’t they, all except Ber- 
tie ? She’s the limb of the family, — smart though, very, if 
detestable. Louisa, — sweet woman ! perfect, my wife 
thinks. I, you know, prefer imperfection though. Marion, 


148 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


almost beautiful ; Madge, handsomer, somehow, though, to 
my taste. Any beaux about ? Stupid enough, isn’t it ? 
Queer, old, broken-down place. House looks outside as if 
it had an attack of malignant erysipelas. Comfortable quar- 
ters within, though, — even aristocratic, tapestry, chairs, 
and all. Gothic hall and stairway quite grand, eh ? Going 
to write a book, I suppose, and put us all in ? Hope so.” 

“ The idea has not suggested itself to me, so far, Major 
Favrand, if you except a diary, very carelessly kept.” 

“ Oh, that is delightful ! ” and he rubbed his hands viva- 
ciously. “ When we are better acquainted, I hope you will 
give me a glimpse of that volume. Think we shall get on,” 
nodding sagaciously. “ But Wentworth must be relieved ; 
matters are becoming desperate. Beauseincourt has had him 
long enough in the cold and by the button. That man has 
been known to petrify people before now. Wentworth, 
Wentworth, I say ! ” lifting his voice slightly, and rising on 
his toes in speaking, as if making desperate exertions. “ I 
shall grow hoarse with calling the poor victim (aside). 
Captain Wardour Wentworth, here are some ladies dying 
to make your acquaintance, and if you stand there much 
longer,” making a speaking trumpet of his hand, and again 
raising his voice, “ you will turn into a pillar of ice, like Lot’s 
wife. Salt, was it, Laura ? ” dropping his tone, as she cor- 
rected him. “ Oh, that spoils my comparison ; ” then again 
elevating it, “ you are in the dangerous grasp of a one idea 
button-breaking, petrifying, Medusa of a man. Wentworth, 
I say ! ” trumpeting again. 

“ What would you have, Major Favrand?” asked Cap- 
tain Wentworth a little sternly, I thought, stepping forth 
from the shadow, and thus standing suddenly revealed 
before us. 

“ You forget, my dear fellow, what drowned wretches we 
were awhile ago, when the retainers seized and peeled us 
in the hall. John the Baptist, just rising from the Jordan, 
with a sinner by the nape of the neck, never cut a wetter 
figure than we, in those long cloaks of ours ; and you lose 
sight, too, of the fact, that fire is the natural remedy for the 
ills of chilled humanity. Approach, my friend, and sun 
yourself in the smiles of beauty and flames of ‘old hickory.’ 
But I forget; you havte had enough of the last already, 
probably,” laughing low at this sally. “ By the bye, Lou- 
isa, there are letters.” 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


149 


While Madame Lavigne was reading these from the wel- 
some hand of her son, “ Beauseincourt,” (as Major Fav- 
rand fantastically called his host) was leading Captain 
Wentworth around his domestic circle, like a captive Indian 
prince to be duly exhibited to every member of the family, 
and named to each in turn, from Louey up ; for such was 
Colonel Lavigne’s old-fashioned interpretation of the rites 
of hospitable initiation. 

I was the last person introduced, I remember, after which 
ceremonial, Captain Wentworth turned quietly away with 
a relieved air, and crossed the room, to take a seat near his 
hostess, now folding up her letter, and ready to converse, 
doubtless, about the perfections of Lieutenant Walter La- 
vigne. *~ 

While thus engaged, I could not help observing this new 
candidate for attention, and drawing a comparison between 
the two gentlemen who had so suddenly broken in upon the 
completeness of our family circle, and already created such 
a diversion of interests, by their inopportune arrival. 

Major Favrand (I see him distinctly before my mind’s 
eye at this moment, as he stood that night, with his back 
to the fire, his hands clasped behind him, his face beaming 
with animation) was a man of forty- three or four years of 
age, looking younger, however, than he really was, with a 
short, compact, characteristic figure, very trim, straight 
and military in his bearing, with legs and arms somewhat 
too slender for his portly body, finished, as these were, by 
miniature extremities, fie had a good square head, cov- 
ered with fine, black hair, here and there very slightly 
streaked with gray, or rather sparsely sown with silver 
threads, scarcely discernible by candlelight ; a round, olive- 
colored face, expansive forehead, manly chin, regular, but 
insignificant profile, small, black, twinkling eyes, both mar- 
tial and merry, and a mouth which, although shaded by an 
asp-like moustache, “ala der Freyschutz,” was humorous 
in its expression. His whole bearing was slightly supercil- 
ious, and his voice rather too high pitched in key to be 
strictly agreeable; but it was still well modulated and con- 
trolled, and thus rendered endurable. His laugh was con- 
tagious and irresistible, and rang out like a boy’s. It takes 
a well-bred man to afford to laugh naturally, as he did ; it 
is a test. In a common person such an indulgence would 
savor of coarseness ; in him it was an additional attraction. 


150 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


In snort, he was quite delightful. This was the impression, 
at least, he made on me at first. 

Captain Wentworth, ten or twelve years younger than 
his companion, was a graceful, well-proportioned m.an, 
somewhat above the medium height, with a commanding 
presence, which made him seem taller, at first, than he really 
was ; the effect, perhaps, of his remarkably well-set head and 
knightly shoulders. His eyes were steadfast and clear ; 
dark gray in color, I found later, and looking out luminously 
from beneath well-hung and somewhat massive eyebrows, 
and a forehead that might have belonged to a demi-god, 
not merely beaming and intellectual, but benign as well, 
from which the dark chestnut hair was swept carelessly 
back, plume fashion. This noble brow was certainly his 
most beautiful and marked feature ; yet the rest were finely 
moulded ; the curve of the cheek and jaw was absolutely 
antique. The upper lip, which was well supported by the 
lower, was, however, very slightly pointed and prominent, 
and perhaps a thought too long ; defects partially concealed 
by his thick, curling moustache, worn “ a la militaire,” and 
in those days considered a decided foppery, if not an abso- 
lute innovation on popular American usages. The teeth 
were fine and characteristic ; they gave strange beauty to 
his rare and solemn smile, and seemed made for expression, 
even more than mastication. His complexion was of a 
bronzed pallor, naturally fair, no doubt, from the hue of his 
brow and throat, when glimpses of this last were revealed, 
on later inspection. His hands and feet were good, but 
not remarkable ; “ natural, not obvious,” as somebody said 
of style or what it ought to be, and as every gentleman’s 
extremities should be, I think. His voice very pleasant, 
though somewhat monotonously low. His whole appearance 
distinguished, in the best sense of the word ; but neither 
brilliant nor striking ; with great repose of manner, at first 
often mistaken for mere self-possession, permeating and 
characterizing all. 

I thought him, from the first, an eminently handsome 
man ; the rest found him merely good-looking and gentle- 
manly. So much for variety of tastes. He “ filled my 
eye,” as the saying is, which suffices. However, it was to 
my diary alone I committed my earliest impressions of Cap- 
tain Wentworth. I find there this entry, made a few days 
later, during which time we had scarcely interchanged a 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


151 


word, yet it seemed afterwards were mutually observant 
if not pleased with and interested in one another. 

“ The Chief Engineer has arrived, and is to remain at Beau- 
seincourt for the New-Year’s festivities, after which he goes 
into camp, and declines all farther hospitalities. This is his 
programme, as understood. I find myself studying this man 
from the beginningof our acquaintance, as I have never done 
any one else, except Colonel Lavigne, perhaps; yet they are 
very different — two men were never more so. For surely in 
the proud, serene, and, at times, somewhat severe counte- 
nance of this new-comer, there could lurk nothing sinister or 
mysterious, or morbid. The sound of his voice, too, is like 
the ring of tested coin, and 1 confide in his truth instinc- 
tively. Yet are there evidences of the reaction of tides 
about him, so to speak, as when the sea has gone back to 
its bed, its traces remain on the hill-tops. He is one who 
has suffered, in order to grow strong ; and now, perhaps, 
has become too strong for suffering. A remarkable calm- 
ness and reticence seem to surround him with an almost 
impassable barrier. He is either a man who has loved to 
callousness, or who has never loved at all, — can never love. 
One trembles to think, though, of the fire that may burn 
within a stone sarcophagus. Yet, after all, he may be a 
married man, with a quiver full of arrows. He is quite old 
enough, and it certainly is not, can never be, any concern of 
mine, whether he is double or single. I despise overween- 
ing curiosity ; I blush at my own conjectures.” 

(Later.) “It seemed, after all, that Captain Wentworth 
has earned his mustache legitimately. He has been living 
for ten years in Russia, assisting to construct railroads for 
the Czar. I heard him tell Colonel Lavigne this, giving him 
also some very interesting accounts of the steppes, and their 
still undeveloped resources. His words are finely chosen, 
very simple, though his sentences drop from his quiet lips 
like gems. I have never heard any one converse more elo- 
quently, yet with less effort and ostentation. His life has 
been a hard one, I imagine, and has killed out all extrava- 
gance. With what a mild derision, so to speak, he listens 
to Major Favrand ! Yet they seem very well pleased to be 
together. He is not fond of ladies’ society, evidently. At 
this I cannot wonder ; just now we are all very dull, more 
than usually uninteresting. This dreary weather has done 


152 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


its work, at last ; I have seldom been so downcast ; I can- 
not rally. All the bitter past comes back to me ; all the 
hopelessness of the future crowds upon me ; I can but muse 
and weep, when my time is not devoted to my duties, light 
in this week of holiday, thank Heaven, else I scarcely know 
how I could well perform or sustain them. 

“ Madam Lavigne is oppressed by her delayed prepara- 
tions ; the girls are restless in anticipation of coming festiv- 
ities and company, of which, poor things they truly see but 
little. The wires are all jangling. I have never felt so en- 
tirely alone, since I came to Beauseincourt. All that made 
Christmas dear to me has vanished, all — with father, sister, 
home, indulgent friends. The fiends possess my Paradise.” 

In a mood like this, it may be well imagined I had little 
disposition to form a nearer acquaintance with the guest of 
the establishment, nor did it indeed seem worth while, under 
the circumstances, to make much effort to break the ice of 
strangeness. He was to go to his employment immediately 
after New-Year’s Day, when the rest of his staff would be up 
from Savannah. Mr. Gregory, with whom, so far, he had 
no personal acquaintance, would then join and assist him to 
form his plans and resolutions. It interested me to observe 
him ; it would bore me to entertain ; and thus it rested. 

The ancient and well-established proverb of “l’homme 
propose et Dieu dispose,” was never more clearly illustrated 
than in this instance ; for after refusing courteously, yet very 
decidedly, Colonel Lavigne’s pressing invitation to remain 
his guest until spring (when greater facilities in his profes- 
sion, and less exposure to weather would both, he was 
assured, better prosper his undertaking), Captain Went- 
worth became, through the force of circumstances, as shall 
be seen, an unwilling prisoner for weeks, nay months, under 
the roof of his present host, and at a time when the current of 
popular feeling setting so strong towards him now was com- 
pletely altered, and turned aside. 

But let me not anticipate ; all this will be related pres- 
ently. In the meantime, much that is unpleasant, perhaps 
even tedious, must be quietly endured. I must tell my 
tale in my own way, weary but patient reader, and if inter- 
rupted, perhaps like the old woman of the nursery, “ go 
back and begin my story again at the beginning ; so be- 
ware how you break its thread. 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


153 


CHAPTER IX. 

f ERY suddenly, as if from some rare caprice, the sun 
threw off his veil of mist and cloud, and the sandy 
and porous soil, sucking eagerly in its reserve of 
nutriment, soon lost all traces of its recent inunda-. 
AA? tion. The weather that heralded the new year 
was exquisite, — a Cordelia, as it seemed to me, 
laying a loving hand on the head of the dreary Lear, 
not yet quite mad from adversity. All nature seemed alive 
again, and in the universal rejoicing I felt my own sad 
heart awake to renewed life, ever sensuously sensitive to 
such influences, as it had proved itself from childhood up, 
and in full sympathy therewith. 

Birds were singing in the cedar thickets, as if in spring 
greeting ; paroquets chattering in the half-dismantled groves ; 
doves cooing in the copses, where the myrtle and dwarf 
magnolia and Petasporum were always verdant. Among 
the dark leaves of the ivy that covered densely the gables 
of the house of Beauseincourt, new ones of smaller size and 
more tender green were quickly visible. Rosebuds were 
induced to change their minds, and expand into perfect 
flowers with magical celerity, instead of mildewing in un- 
closed celibacy beneath the constant rains, or shrivelling 
up with cold into floral mummies ; while verbenas, the name 
of which was legion in that land, again reached out their 
tender, green runners, as happy infants extend their hands 
across the bosom of their nursing mothers, and threw up 
to light their variegated panicles. The azalia unclosed her 
large, fair eyes meekly in the shrubbery, and the great, 
black honeysuckle that concealed one of the porches with 
its dark, evergreen foliage, opened its white, fragrant tubes 
and showered forth its frankincense. Even the pyrus japon- 
ica was stirred through its shining mail to give forth a 
few blood-red blossoms, the faint promise of its final har- 
vest, when, like the household of the wise woman described 
by Solomon, it should stand forth clothed in scarlet, to me^t 


154 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


the smile of spring. Just now it reminded me more of 
Robin Hood’s men in Lincoln green after a pretty sharp 
conflict and spattering of foemen’s blood. 

“ So this is your Southern spring, Madge/’ I had said, 
when this vernal glory first prevailed over the land in 
sudden splendor. 

“Spring! oh, dear, no ; we shall have months of bad 
weather yet, perhaps. Did you imagine our winter was 
only a week in length ? Prepare yourself for the worst ; 
you have yet to see Beauseincourt with the horrors. The 
climate of Georgia, this part of it at least, has its dumps, 
like Bertie. The everlasting pattering of rain on that slate 
roof is a thing, 1 to dream of, not to tell/ as your favorite 
Coleridge says ; and the dampness penetrates to your very 
bones, ' nay, the marrow thereof/ as father has it, when he 
complains of rheumatism. The clothes you lay away get 
mouldy in your drawers ; gloves and silks are speckled as 
if they had been sprinkled with sea-water ; the very leaves 
of books stick together, and streams of damp run down the 
walls of all unused rooms.” 

“ Madge, what a picture of your climate ! ” 

“You will never stand it, I fear, Miss Harz ; for, if your 
spirits give way after one week’s rain, what will they do in 
eight? Work it by the rule of three, and you will have 
your answer : elope or commit suicide, of course.” 

“Not a bit of it, Madge; we will make our sunshine. 
You know what your sweet song says, — 


* We brought our summer with us.’ 


“ Big fires and good company are next to sunshine, you 
know. Ay, better sometimes for soul-warmth.” 

“ Yes, Miss Harz. But where in the name of sense, after 
this one week’s festivities, is the good company to come 
from ? If you can, tell me that,” she asked, dolefully. 

“ Are we not a host in ourselves, Madge ? We will have 
a concert once a week, dramatic readings twice, cards and 
games and dancing on the intervening evenings ; and that I 
may join in the last, instead of drumming my fingers off for 
others eternally, Colonel Lavigne shall order up ‘ Bones/ 
and the fiddles and banjo from the quarters. There, now, 
what do you say to that ? Then our sewing society, 
and singing-school for the darkies, that your mother pro- 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


155 

posed, you remember, will quite finish the rest of the time ; 
that is, when lessons are over.” 

“ Oh, yes, that will be charming,” derisively. “ Besides,” 
and she hesitated here very earnestly, “It is barely pos- 
sible that Mr. Gregory may stay here, you know, a part of 
the time (I had forgotten that). There is a Mr. Charles 
Vernon to come also, Captain Wentworth says, who may 
be induced to join us occasionally, and some one else, I 
forget whom, — Yorke, 1 believe, — all quite young gentle- 
men ; not stern and sad and middle-aged, like Captain 
Wentworth.” 

“ Middle-aged, Madge ? He seems quite a young man to 
me. How old do you take him to be ? ” 

“ Why, thirty-three, at the least,” opening her large gray 
eyes ; “ and you know how little sympathy men of that age 
feel for girls of ours.” 

“ True, true : he is not quite old enough to appreciate 
youth for its own sake, as he would do were he ten years 
older, and a little too old for a contemporary of youth. A 
very unfortunate time of life, certainly. 

“ You smile, but it is true, Miss Harz, and we all think it 
very hard that you should stay up stairs so much and throw 
the whole burden of entertaining him on our hands. He 
does not make the slightest distinction in his attentions 
between Marion, me, and Bertie ; and as to Laura and Louey; : 
he absolutely prefers them to any of us, strange as that may 
appear.” 

“ A confirmed old bachelor, evidently,” I said, much 
amused at her heartfelt complaints. 

“ I fear so,” rejoined Madge, with simplicity. “ Instead 
of telling us the fashions of foreign lands, and anecdotes of 
people he has seen, and about the courts and operas, he lec- 
tures us on optics and astronomy, and examines us on history. 
It is perfectly insupportable. It is true Bertie drew it all out 
by her questions and impertinences, but he ought to have 
had more consideration for Marion and myself. How differ- 
ent is Mr. Gregory ! ” with a profound sigh and shake of the 
head. 

“ I am sorry your guest bores you so. I will do my best 
to-morrow to relieve you, for I am beginning to rise to my 
level again after a week’s depression.” 

“ What a weather-glass you are, Miss Harz 1 ” 

* l It is not altogether that, Madge, 1 am convinced it is 


156 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


not, that has so sorely oppressed me. Never mind ; it is 
over now, and it shall not be my fault if the shadow falls 
again.” 

Alas ! what heart can defy presentiment ? The loom of 
destiny may be at work, as the “ sagas ” tell us it is, in the 
heart of creation ; but the ear of instinct and prescience, 
finely attuned, will catch sometimes the sound of the dis- 
cordant shuttles, when there is question of its own peculiar 
warp and woof, however remote it may be from the centre 
of all. Thus may it have fared with me, when that mood of 
unappeasable gloom fell over me for a season, — that spell 
of Saul : I can no way else define it. 

I knew, as Madge had disclosed in simple parlance, that 
they had “ all thought hard of me” at Beauseincourt, for 
not assisting them in their hour of need to entertain their 
inopportune guest. Colonel Lavigne, even, fond as he was 
of the absolute command of his own time, had scowled sev- 
eral times darkly upon me when I made a motion to with- 
draw ; and Madame Lavigne more than once had plead the 
urgency of her employments. 

Selfishly, as it seemed, had I so far resisted the wishes of 
my hosts ; but the truth was, 1 had been too sad even to 
explain my sadness, or make it a pretext to others, — too 
much cast down to care what any one thought of my conduct ; 
an unusual mood with me, and one that startled even my 
1 own experience. 

Bertie was the only person who had not seemed to take 
notice of my behavior, and who reproved the rest for speak- 
ing of me as “ moody,” as Madame Lavigne herself told me, 
later, with tears in her eyes, when conviction and remorse 
had come to her hand in hand. 

“ She is always your defender,” she then said, “ when 
your back is turned, whatever she may be in your presence.” 

But I anticipate in recording this confession here ; it was 
the fruit of later circumstances. At the time I write of, no 
allowances were made for my “peculiar and disobliging 
demeanor,” as Colonel Lavigne saw fit to term my name- 
less wretchedness, a mood forgiven, however, as soon as it 
passed away, even by those who had felt aggrieved by its 
presence. 

True to my promise, on the morning succeeding this con- 
versation (one of extreme housewifely anxiety, I knew, to 
Madame Lavigne, for on this day every chamber was to be 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


157 


severally inspected, and the final touch to toilets and tables, 
and the festooning of curtains, quite a fine art at Beausein- 
court, given by her own graceful fingers), I descended to the 
sitting-room, knitting-work in hand, for the especial purpose 
of “ entertaining ” Captain Wentworth, a cut-and-dried occu- 
pation that I naturally shrank from. Why it should have 
been deemed necessary, under the circumstances, to under- 
take this task at all, I could not very well see ; but I knew 
that it was one of Madame Lavigne’s hospitable superstitions 
that her guests should be treated like idiots or lunatics, and 
never for one moment be left to their own devices, for fear 
of serious consequences, probably, to life or limb. 

I smiled as I thought how greatly, in all probability, this 
thoughtful, grave, and cultivated man — for his face indi- 
cated all of these things — would have preferred the grand 
old library, with all its discrepancies (to which free access 
was afforded him), to the society of the shallow person now 
appointed to entertain him. 

I met Sylphy on the platform of the stairs as I was descend- 
ing them, coming in quest of me, with an urgent message 
from Madame Lavigne, to the effect that as Uncle Quimbo 
and the “ Lumberbus ” had at last arrived, she must go in 
person to superintend the unpacking of her precious load of 
delicacies, and see to their disposition, as well as to some 
of those nicer culinary operations, which it was high time 
should be commenced in preparation for the now speedily 
expected guests. 

An’ its more dan Missus dar do,” said Sylphy, with great 
j spirit, “ to lebe Massa Walter’s 7 ticklerest fren’ in de settin- 
room by his lone self; and Miss Marion, she’s sliet up wid 
Clare in de bes’ chamber, alterin’ of her new dress, wat Mrs. 
Dart spilt in de waist ; and as fur Miss Madge, I heered her 
. say she was boun’ to res’ dis mornin’ or die for it ; so she’s 
dun gone fas’ to sleep. Miss Bertie, — she’s noffin but a 
chile hersef, you know, Miss Miriam, haf de time talkin ob 
[ foolishness, an’ tellin’ more dan she knows. An’ as to Laura 
and Louey, dey’s enuff to wear out de patience ob a mission- 
ary or a settin’ hen, dey is ; an’ I’s gwine straight to Missus 
myself, bout some ob dere recum-behavior, I is dat.” 

“ Sylphy, don’t you see you are only detaining me with 
your threats and explanations ? ” I remonstrated, half pro- 
voked by her stream of prattle : “lam going straight down 
»to sit with Captain Wentworth now, if you will let me pass, 
and I hope your Mistress will feel relieved.” 


158 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


“You looks mighty well in dat red chintz dress, Miss Mir- 
ime, wid de white cuffs and collar an* gold pin, an’ your 
little scalloped black-silk apron. When you's done wid 
dat gown, Miss Mirime ” — 

“ Yes, yes, Sylphy, it shall be yours, of course ; but let 
me pass now ; ” and in another moment the obstruction of 
her person was removed, and I found myself in the presence 
of the guest and his hostess, the latter of whom wore that 
resigned look of martyrdom that shot ten thousand arrows 
to my reproachful conscience. 

Captain Wentworth rose as I entered, and advanced a 
chair for me, without entirely abandoning his own, to which 
he returned after I had been seated ; and a few minutes later, 
Madame Lavigne, in her turn, rose gracefully, and with a 
few parting remarks, prepared to withdraw from the scene 
of her self-sacrifice. 

“ I hope you will be able, Captain Wentworth, ” she said, 
benignly, “ to pass a few pleasant hours, kill time, at least, 
in the absence of my husband. It will not be very long, I 
trust, before he will return to resume his post. In the mean- 
time, Miss Harz has kindly consented to take my place, and 
you two must try and get better acquainted.” 

So saying, with a pleasant smile and bow, she retired, 
leaving her kindly Parthian dart to rankle ; for these re- 
marks were, as might have been supposed, ill-calculated to 
remove the nameless restraint that already existed between 
Captain Wentworth and myself. Strangely enough, how- 
ever, they proved to have the very opposite effect from the 
one most probable, and unlocked the ice of our previous con- 
gelation, for we both happened to look up and smile at the 
same moment, and from the same impression. I shook my 
head slightly at the indiscretion of which I had been guilty, 
for I surely had no wish nor right to deride the well-intended 
want of tact that amused us both ; yet my behavior might 
have been construed, differently, I knew, impulsive and 
involuntary as it was. 

“ That quaint little explanation opens a whole volume to 
me on the subject of social estimates in this region,” said 
Captain Wentworth, still smiling. “ Southern ideas seem 
truly oriental, and man retains here his ancient prerogative, 
now almost fabulous in Christian countries, of being first 
considered in all relations, even those of a tete k tete. I 
can imagine Colonel Lavigne in your chair, and draw the 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


159 


contrast. He is very obliging to-day,” bending his head 
slightly. 

“You must make allowance for a wife’s partiality. 
Madame Lavigne always finds him agreeable and forgets 
how much of this is due to her affection. He is, however, 
without exaggeration, a well-informed, original man, and 
very edifying in his way.” 

“ In his way ! Yes, 1 perceive the truth of your estimate. 
It was only the implied comparison I cavilled at.” 

“ Believe me, Madame Lavigne intended nothing more 
than a polite apology for entrusting the entertainment of a 
valued guest to a passing stranger,” I responded. 

“ Doubting this, the remark would not have amused me,” 
he rejoined gravely, “ 1 looked upon what she said as a 
characteristic instance of feminine humility, — that was all, 
— such as we find to exist alone in patriarchal countries.” 

“Yet nowhere else have I seen men more chivalric than 
in the South,” I replied, “ albeit so self-indulged. The 
two conflict so far as to render them somewhat impatient 
of the restraints they never throw aside in female society, 
and the result is they paradoxically prefer liberty and one 
another. Madame Lavigne forgot you were a Northern 
man.” 

“ But I am not a Northern man, having been born in 
Virginia and partly reared there, — only a cosmopolite 
* with a heart for every fate/ I enjoy very much the sim- 
plicity and purity of this Southern domestic life. It is like 
a glimpse of Eden to me to look into the depths of a house- 
hold like this, — so virtuous, so well ordered. The mother 
so pure and ladylike ; the daughters so bright and fair and 
dutiful. No wonder that the son has a crystalline nature, 
after such training, if it may indeed be called training, 
where mere example does all.” 

“Is Walter very handsome, Captain Wentworth?” I 
questioned. 

“ Yes. Achilles in his adolescence might have looked like 
him. ‘ The flower of chivalry/ as his fellows call him on 
shipboard, ‘ The knight of the Southern cross/ Do you 
comprehend him now ? ” 

“ I think so. Does he resemble either parent ? 

“ I cannot see that he does. Miss Marion is more like 
him than any of the rest, with the exception of little Louey, 
perhaps.” 


160 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


I thought I knew, from this admission, what manner of 
physiognomy Walter Lavigne possessed. There was noth- 
ing characteristic about either of those fair-faced sisters of 
his. He was probably a pretty man merely, a style I 
especially eschewed. 

I had hoped to find him more like Bertie/ ’ I said, im- 
pulsively : “ her type is the more masculine one.” 

In that heroic strain that runs in both natures there is 
resemblance, not outwardly, however,” he rejoined. “ Col- 
onel Lavigne has been thrilling me with an account of Miss 
Bertie’s conduct, by the way, in that bear peril of his. It 
reminds me of Walter’s daring feat in the Bay of Odessa, 
when, to save the life of a simple seaman, he hazarded his 
own by plunging into the waters, literally ‘ accoutred as he 
was/ He rescued the man at desperate odds and unhesi- 
tatingly. I never shall forget the scene, nor the boy’s un- 
conscious innocence as to the part he had played. My 
heart was his from that moment. He is naivete personi- 
fied.” 

“ Was this the beginning of your acquaintance? ” 

“ It was. Our was a very short one at best, close as it 
proved. I happened to be thrown on his ship as far as the 
Bermudas. But he is a volume one reads easily and rapidly 
and I believe I knew him better in that time than many 
men I have passed years among. I have never encountered 
any being with a more transparent nature or a more knightly 
sense of honor. Palamon or Arcite themselves were not 
more high-hearted than Lavigne. 

“ I am truly glad to hear you say this. He seems to be 
such an idol in his family.” 

“A family I scarcely expected to see, when he forced his 
letters of introduction into my hand, as I frankly told him. 
But circumstances have shaped my course since then so as 
to make this neighborhood my goal for/he present; and, to 
crown my good fortune, it seems Walter himself is to be at 
home in the spring on furlough, when I shall try to be his 
guest for a little while at the Refuge. In the meantime 1 
need not repine.” 

“ Bertie has described this place to me as a perfect 
eagle’s cairn,” I rejoined ; “ perched as it is upon the high- 
est hill of Lesdernier, a rustic lodge, such as the Douglas 
dwelt in, according to Scott, among the meres and moun- 
tains of Scotland, overlooking a ^vamp as it does, a lake, 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


161 


and a great extent of country, and literally wreathed with 
roses and multiflora vines. A perfect nest of beauty. I 
mean to steal a glimpse of it myself before Walter comes 
home, if possible, — in early spring.” 

“ Why was'it called the Refuge ? ” he demanded. 

“The family were obliged to leave home on account of 
an epidemic on one occasion and Colonel Lavigne fitted up 
a disused hunting-lodge for their reception in the height of 
Lesdernier ; hence the name, so Bertie tells me. A few 
hundreds of picturesque, but perfectly worthless acres lie 
around the tenement ; and this is Walter’s estate. Bertie 
laughs very much at the vision of their future housekeeping 
there together.” 

“ What a strange child she is, to be sure, that Bertie 
Lavigne of yours,” he mused. “ Robertina, they call her, 
she tells me, after some Huguenot ancestress, from whom, 
perhaps, as well, she received this heroic strain of character 
others. I cannot think it comes to her very directly,” and 
he bent his speaking eyes upon me. “ To be plain with 
you,” he continued, “ I do not perceive in either parent, as 
far as I can judge of them on a short acquaintance, the 
possession of such remarkable elements. Walter and 
Bertie must have gone far back, as far as the days of the 
Fronde perchance, to seek their source ; for I read that in 
those wars the Lavignes fought valiantly. Thus you see 
how 'the bread thrown on the waters/ after many days is 
found again. Is this your theory of races, Miss Harz ? ” 

“Partly so; to some degree realized in my own case, 
perhaps,” I answered. “The clash of the Hebrew cym- 
bals is not altogether unfamiliar to my dreaming ear. I 
always hear it when I have any great work to do.” 

“ I marked that Oriental possibility from the first,” he 
observed. “ And was Miriam truly an ancestress of 
yours ?” and he smiled at his own quaint inquiry. 

I looked up with grave earnestness as I made reply ; for 
I felt the slight derision of his words, and resented it. 

“ I do not know. I hope so ; for as you have learned, I 
suppose, my name too is Miriam. But that is slender 
ground for claiming kin of such distinction, such remote- 
ness.” 

“ Miriam, — Miriam Harz,” he murmured softly, ab- 
sently, bending above his chair, and I was conscious of his 
gaze, though my eyes were upon the purse I was netting, 
10 


162 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


and my lips moved mechanically, counting the stitches as 
though I heard him not. It thrilled me in some inexpli- 
cable way to hear him murmuring my name, or part of my 
name, in that familiar, absent, dreamy manner. Alas ! 
would he ever know the patronymic I thought so noble ? 
Would I ever be to him other than the u children’s gov- 
erness,” as Colonel Lavigne so frequently called me ? 
Would he some day recognize in me the daughter of the 
proudest man that ever drew breath of life and the repre- 
sentative of the long line that claimed their descent from 
Simon de Montfort, himself the regulator of kings ? 

“ But why should I care,” in the next moment I asked 
myself, “ what estimate this stranger may place upon me ? 
YVkat is he to me ? what can he, need he ever be ? ” and 
my eyes resumed their serenity as I raised them to his face 
and said, digressively, — 

“ I believe you and Bertie have become very well ac- 
quainted in the last few days. Has she revealed herself 
perfectly to you ? ” 

“ I cannot tell. She has by no means the angelic trans- 
parency of her brother, so to speak, and may be a little 
inscrutable. One thing impressed me strangely, I confess. 
I ventured to request an account frorq her own mouth of 
the bruin adventure. I fancied to hear it in the first person 
in that sweet, vibrant voice and from those fresh lips of hers. 
But she winced terribly ; then suddenly turning pale and 
covering her face with her hands, absolutely quivering with 
excitement, fled from my presence. Since then, of course, 
no allusion has been made to this subject of her heroism on 
my part. But this display of vivid emotion struck me as 
extraordinary, if not affected, and as something that ought 
in either case to be controlled.” 

“ It is something that cannot be controlled,” I replied, 
“ nor even explained perhaps. The philosophy of the thing 
may be this, however : Bertie is a child of such imagination, 
that memory too vividly reproduces past peril, exaggerates 
it, even, so that she who met the reality bravely shrinks 
before the semblance. The dream is harder to bear than 
the truth. Can you not conceive of such a state of 
things ? ” 

“ I can,” he answered gloomily. “ Indeed it is a question 
with me sometimes whether we might not with advantage 
have been so constituted as to wipe clean, or tear out from 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


163 


the volume of life, such pages of memory as we will to de- 
stroy, — a wretched childhood, for instance, or a bootless 
youth, — and commence afresh again, without the clog of 
reminiscence to embarrass us, and with only the conscious- 
ness of a chosen portion of our lives. ” 

“ I understand your idea/ ’ I said, and how it might obtain 
in some cases ; but to me it seems that such a power of pro- 
ceeding would ill answer the divine purposes of our being. 
We should become epicurean at once in our ideas and efface 
too willingly from the tablets of our brain, all painful recol- 
lections, however profitable to our welfare these might be. 
Progress of soul would I fear be at a stand-still, were your 
idea verified.” 

“ How can you prove such memories profitable ? ” he 
asked. “ What advantage is there in bearing about a mill- 
stone, an incubus, through life, — in setting a skeleton at 
every feast? No: better to be born again in oblivion.” 
And his gloomy brow betrayed an inward strife. 

“ Could we but think so,” I pursued, after a pause, “it is 
from the retrospect of suffering that we gather most of our 
strength to endure, and caution to avoid. How else should 
we learn ‘ How divine a thing it is to suffer and grow 
strong.’ ” 

“ You do not agree then with Tennyson, this new English 
bard, whose wing already has dared so majestic a flight, 
1 that a sorrow’s crown of sorrow, is remembering happier 
things ’ ? That is not your creed ? ” 

11 No, no, indeed ! It is joy to some spirits, even in their 
grief, to remember past rapture.” 

“ The Desert of Sahara” he said vaguely, “ was once, we 
are told, a sea filled with organic life, vestiges of which 
remain buried among the sand-drifts ; but the waters are 
gone forever, nor shall they ever return again to refresh 
its solitary wastes. What avails such a deposit of relics, 
save to satisfy the cravings of science or the misgivings of 
the philosopher ? So memory retains the mere shell of 
the realities long since departed — after the floods of emotion 
have subsided and nothing remains to sensation but arid 
poverty — the desert sand and the crust of decayed life, 
ft is all very unsatisfactory to my mind. Jesus said * Let 
the dead bury their dead,’ you remember, where there was 
question of hesitation on the path of duty. And what is the 
past in most cases, but a clog upon one’s energies and a 


164 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


vexation of spirit? I say ' Amen ’ with ail my heart as 
these words apply to the corses of memory. Let them be 
entombed, and let the march be onward to the end of all. ? ^ 

“This application as to Christ’s words is an imperfect 
one, it seems to me,” I rejoined. “It is not in the same 
way we two interpret this mystical command of our Saviour. 

I believe it referred alone to that useless repining over what 
is gone forever, — those unavailing regrets for the past that 
hamper our energies and unlit us for our duties. It is wrong 
— it is weak, I know — to indulge in these. We should 
put them away as sternly as the Greeks ostracized their 
effete heroes. Ay, if it be necessary, in order to be done 
with them, slay them with our own hands even as the Moor 
did Desdemona, though our hearts die in the effort. Even 
sorrow (the holy of holies while it abides in its allotted and 
reasonable limits) must be dealt with after this fashion, 
should it survive its season, or transcend its boundaries. 
All this I know, and mournfully acknowledge as my law. 

“ But, as we value our own souls, we must remember; for 
memory is a principal ingredient in immortality. Oblivion 
is anniliilation. What were our conception of heaven worth 
without such association? Would heaven be at all as we 
imagine it ? Think of the meeting hereafter without recog- 
nition, —the child passing the mother by, the father the 
child, the husband the wife, the brother the sister, in vague, 
unsympathizing strangeness, in utter oblivion and ignorance. 
Oh ! how delightful it must be, even in the land of spirits, to 
recognize the lace, the glance we loved so well on earth; 
and which even the grave could not teach us to forget 1 
Surely this is a dear privilege.” 

“You are an enthusiast, Miss Harz, — I saw it at a 
glance, — and destined, therefore, to bear the bitter burden 
of disappointment in all its fulness ! ” In truth, I now sat 
trembling and emotional before him. 

“ And you are a prophet of ill omen, I am afraid ; yet, I 
believe and fear, a correct one, in my case,” I answered 
gravely, after I had recovered myself. 

“ May Heaven grant that I prove a false one, rather than 
that oracle of mine should cause you sorrow ! ” he said half 
earnestly, adding after a pause, in playful but gentle- 
accents, “ I have merely-been reading you, after all, — it is 
a way I have sometimes, — drawing you out, in my own 
fashion, by means of one of my pet theories. It is long 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


165 


since I met with a truly enthusiastic spirit, such as yours. 
False enthusiasm there is enough in the world, God knows ! 
Frigid fire, cold as phosphorus and equally incommunicable ; 
* VVill of the wisp ’ fanaticism that leads to nothing better 
than marsh and mire. But yours is sunflame. Truty, I am 
glad that in pursuance of Madame Lavigne’s parting injunc- 
tion, we two are rapidly growing better acquainted.” 

“Thank you,” I said coldly. “Perhaps after all, 
Madame Lavigne’s injunction wants fulfilment, and your 
powers of discrimination are at fault. I am not so easily 
read as you imagine.” 

My “ amour propre ” was touched by his singular scrutiny, 
his condescension of manner and remark born of the habit 
of his solitary life, perhaps, his nonchalance. 

“ Pardon me if I still adhere to my first impression,” he 
rejoined, quietly taking up a book as he spoke which lay 
beside him and opening it. After a moment he closed and 
laid it down again. It was a recent Life of Washington. 

“No man is great without enthusiasm, nor woman either,” 
he said, looking up suddenly from the volume over which 
his eye had glanced; “but there is such a thing as sus- 
tained enthusiasm, and that means genius wherever it may 
be found, although it does not always pass for such, as in 
the case of Washington, for instance.” 

“ Washington ! I thought he wanted it altogether, Cap- 
tain Wentworth. The creative power is an essential of 
genius, and this even his worshippers deny to him, great as 
he unquestionably was.” 

“We cannot measure him by the common mortal stand- 
ard of genius. His was a sphered perfection. In his won- 
derful organization, enthusiasm was subordinate, as fire is 
contained, we are taught, in the heart of the earth, which 
still revolves its course in order and without any obvious 
manifestation of its internal heat. Nay, even with eternal 
snows crowning a portion of its surface. Your flimsy 
electric cloud is more demonstrative, but ends by casting 
forth its fires and disappearing in vapor.” 

“ But in what manner did Washington prove his genius, 
Captain Wentworth ? It is of that there is question now, 
if I understand you.” 

“ By fulfilling his mission. What would you have had 
him do beyond ? Paint a picture, or choir an oratorio, or 
compose a poem, or fight one or two brilliant battles ? Did 


166 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


Christ do these things, God’s chosen representative on earth ? 
(You see at once that I am Unitarian, Miss Harz.) Or should 
an angel set his foot on this globe, would evidences like 
these be demanded or expected from him to prove his 
genius ? Yet who could doubt, knowing him fresh from 
God, that he could perform works even of this kind beyond 
aught man has ever imagined or comprehended, if he so 
willed it or thereto condescended, or discredit that he came 
for a great purpose, which, difficult or not, he would cer- 
tainly accomplish ? ” 

“ Success is genius, then, in your estimation ? ” 

“When God-directed, surely. They are by no means 
inseparable however ; I should be sorry to say this.” 

“Then you acknowledge genius may exist without suc- 
cess ? ” I was weaving paradoxes now. 

“To some extent 1 do. The noblest, sweetest, most 
gifted natures fail frequently for want of that sphered per- 
fection which in its fulness bears to the common observer 
no evidence of genius, because of its consummate consist- 
ency and equality of power. It seems a commonplace 
thing enough to make a rose : yet, what an evidence of 
marvellous genius it is, — mere matter of course, as we con- 
sider it. Could any human skill put together again the 
perfect flower you have just pulled to pieces and scattered 
at your feet and make it what it was ? Could Shakespeare 
have accomplished a miracle like this ? and yet we call his 
genius divine. Is not creation genius ? ” 

“ I have never thought before of God’s genius, I confess. 
It has seemed a human attribute to me until now. I see 
what you mean too about Washington. I think I have a 
glimpse of Jove behind that marble face of his, said to have 
been usually so immobile.” 

“ A watch-tower does not shiver in a storm like a tree, 
yet lightning may rend it to the base. Minds like Wash- 
ington’s (the demi-god mould of the Greek) are not readily 
convulsed by emotion, and the face is but the mirror of the 
mind. Yet that grand countenance, methinks, may have 
had its rare occasions of storm and sunshine ; though man, it 
is said, never saw him weep nor smile in the fixed grandeur 
of his mood. It takes great incidents to agitate such a man, 
— such a face, — lightning to rend the watch-tower against 
which waves beat vainly. Yet no doubt, he felt profoundly.” 

“ And Napoleon, his too was genius,” I said. 


MfRIAirS MEMOIRS. 


167 


“His too was genius, undoubtedly, yet without the 
sphered perfection of Washington’s, and thus it appears 
more prominently before the eyes of men than if rounded 
out with all sustaining qualities. Judgment, fortitude, per- 
severence, patience, — these in him were more or less want- 
ing and imperfect. Besides, he accomplished nothing for all 
time.” 

“ I, too, love and admire the character of Washington ; 
but I never thought of him before as a man of genius,” I 
could not help repeating. After all, what did he create ? ” 

“ lie built up a nation, a Michael Angelo fashioned a 
temple. Which was the greater creation ? He erected his 
wondrous fabric, too, of scant and slight materials, and fixed 
it in granite strength. Does any man seem to have accom- 
plished greater ends, with slenderer means ? What did 
Napoleon do to compare with this — what did Caesar? It 
ill behooves an American, Miss Harz, to dispute the genius 
of Washington. It was godlike. I sometimes feel that it 
would have overwhelmed me but to have looked upon him, 
as in reflecting on Jesus Christ, I think but to have seen or 
heard him speak, must have killed me.” 

These last words indeed seemed self-addressed almost, spo- 
ken as they were in tones tender and low, and with such deep 
reverence by those Unitarian lips, and for a time there was 
silence between us, broken at last somewhat irreverently, 
perhaps, or at least in an undue spirit of levity, I fear, by 
the question, “ Who is enthusiastic now, Captain Went- 
worth ? ” 

He started, smiled, as if aroused from reverie, then an- 
swered, simply, “I have my bursts of enthusiasm, I acknowl- 
edge, when thrown with enthusiasts like yourself, but usu- 
ally I am cold and commonplace enough in all my estimates 
of life and philosophy, to satisfy the merest utilitarian, as 
even you will find to your infinite weariness, after you know 
me better. All the more do I love to see women fervent 
and natural. They are the flowers of humanity ; we, its 
rocks, you know. And for them are rain and sunshine 
profitable, which affect us little.” 

“ Aaron once smote a rock, and living waters gushed out 
of it,” I rejoined carelessly. “ Was that allegorically 
meant, do you suppose, as an illustration of what some 
men’s souls are capable of when the right wand is used ? ” 


168 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


11 It depends upon the hand that wields it,” he replied in a 
manner so significant that I was fain to fly the subject. 

A few moments later the bell rang and we proceeded 
together to the table, no time being admitted of, after this 
last summons, for the usual change of dress, a ceremonial 
somewhat insisted on at Beauseincourt, even if a dingy silk 
were the successor of a radiant calico. “ Such was the cus- 
tom at Branksome Ilall,” and all obeyed it. 

I had made but little progress with my purse, I found on 
examination, but thoroughly “ knitted up the ravelled 
sleeve,” not of care only, but of a new acquaintance, which 
1 had half dreaded to form. And strange to say, whether 
from some remote association of ideas, reaching back per- 
haps, after Bertie’s theory, to a past existence, or from a 
congeniality not yet perfectly recognized, or from an un- 
traced resemblance to some one long ago known and half 
forgotten,* I could never again realize the fact, that to 
me Captain Wentworth was the mere acquaintance of an 
hour, and not the friend of a lifetime. 

I would have trusted him that day, as entirely as I would 
have done months afterwards with my life, my property, 
the honor of my house even ; all save my secrets and my af- 
• actions. These I reserved sacredly, for the present at 
least. 


* It is as well here to explain that this gentleman was indeed a distant relative, 
out of which unacknowledged fact grew later some tangling of the skeins of my 
history, all finally adjusted and satisfactorily disposed of however. This elucida- 
tion is due to the reader, who, from the stringency of my limits, will not be 
suffered in this volume to follow my clue of story to the goal (always so desirable) 
of a just conclusion. Those who care to know the remainder of this history 
may readily do so, however, by pursuing Milton’s suggestion to — 


“ Call up him who loft half told 
The story of Cambuscau bold,” 


and demanding a sequel which shall be duly forthcoming after such summons. 


MIRIAM* S MEMOIRS. 


169 


CHAPTER X. 



*HEN Sylphy came to aid to undress me, on that 
evening, the fluency of her speech was as irresist- 
able as a waterfall. Talk she would and did, as if 
inspired to do so by a pythonic tripod. In times 
of unusual culinary preparation 1 have often ob- 
served this enthusiasm of commnnication to take 
possession of the females of her race, as if the 
nostril wherewith they snuff up the fine odors of propitia- 
tory cates were the readiest avenues to inspire and inform 
their brains. 

“ Uncle Quimbo come mighty near losing his load at 
Lenoir’s Crossin’, and de Lord only knows what Mistus 
would have done if dem mules had not pulled froo. De ole 
man liissef mighty bad off wid de rhumatis’ sence he done 
come home, — along of gittin’ so wet and habbin’ such a 
heap of trouble. One keg of almonds floated away and 
a demijohn of liquor gone by de board, he say, before his 
bery eyes. But we hab a plenty let’ — thanks to de gra- 
cious King ! All de boxes of oranges, lemons and West 
Indy sweetmeats, and de baskets of pine-apples and cham- 
pagne wines, and bananas, and de Dutch cheeses, and 
pickles, an’ fancy cakes an’ candies an’ dates is all come safe 
and soun’. I has been helpin’ to put ’em away in de store- 
room wid my own two blessed han’s ; and Mistus done 
made de sparklingest jelly you ever seed, Miss Mirime, out 
of little scraps and chips of stuff like glass what comes in 
paper boxes, Aunt Felicite, she says urn noffen’ but fish- 
scales — but it don’t smell dat way, nohow — and ders all 


sorts of tin cases, come from France, in Paris, Jura says, 
full ob little fox grape patties, lobsters, and Perrygog pies, 
and scrimps, and pink salmon fish, and oysters, all as fresh 
as if jes’ caught out of de salt water brine. I does wonder 
how dey does ’serve dem fixin’s. And Madame Curzon, — 
cause she couldn’t come to de dinner, nor the General 
neider, — to testify deir respekful regrets, Jura says, she 


170 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


sent down de splendidest cake wat ebber my two speritual 
eyes rested on, baked in a castle mould, de new style, — de 
Sumpter mould, King says dey call it at Sabannah, — 
frosted on the outside (but we hasn't stuck a knife into it 
yet, to see wat it looks like underneaf de icin'), and wid 
parrotpets and case-ons and a little gold gun to fit in ebbery 
one ; and sugar soldiers on the rampants ; and its called a 
Calhoun cake, by de nullification quality (all de poor white 
folks is Jackson trash in dese parts, you knows, Miss 
Mirime) and nobody but me and Mistus, and Aunt Felicite, 
and Jura, and Miss Bertie has had a sight ob dat cake yet ; 
and, please ma'am, Miss Mirime, don't tell dat I spoke to 
you ob de matter, for its a 'found secret and Aunt Felicite, 
she," — peering round to see my face as she spoke, — 

“ Be still, Sylphy," I interrupted, “ don’t presume to 
come to me with household mysteries. I shall see the 
cake soon enough, I suppose. Now light the taper, and 
1 vamose ' speedily." 

“ Oh, Miss Mirime, I tought my breas' 'ud bust if I could 
not tell some one 'bout dat cake. It runs in my head like 
cotton-flyin's. Ise dyin' to see de inside ob it, and know 
wat it tastes like, you'd better believe. I s’pose Miss 
Bertie dun tole you all about it before she 'posed hersef to 
sleep, you takes it so easy ? " 

11 No, indeed, j^our Miss Bertie knows better than to 
come to me with her mother's affairs. But go now, Sylphy ; 
it is late and you had better be in bed. You know to- 
morrow is to be a busy day, we shall all be needed." 

“ You needn't tell me nuffen 'bout dat, honey ; " and she 
still lingered, fidgeting around the room. 

“ What do you want, Sylphy ? There is something, I 
am sure," I said, looking up from the book I was reading, 
— Mrs Shelley's beautiful new novel, of “Falkner;" the 
only book I ever read that made its denouement turn on 
gratitude, and thrice precious to me, if only for this pecu- 
liarity of morals. 

“ Does you want dat pink shally dress of yourn any more 
Miss Miriam, wid bows down de front ? I spied a berry bad 
damp stain on one ob de slebes, wen I was airin' dem gar 
mens of yourn las' week out ob de bureau, an' I has tree 
dollars to pay down now, an more after de new year's comiu 
in " — and she literally began to grope in her pocket. 

“ Nonsense, Sylphy ; you shall have the dress if you want 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


171 


it. How dare you offer to pay me for cast-off clothing ? ” 
1 asked sternly. 

“Oh ! but Miss Miriam, we all knows you has to make 
your libbin by readin’ an writin’ and such like poor doins 
— like Mr. Doremus, an* he nebber had a dime to spare to 
black or white, — an’ he sole all his old coats an’ breeches 
to Uncle Jura, an’ traded off a silver watch for a colt, an' ” — 

“ Never mind, Sylphy, what that old Scotchman did,” 

I interrupted, seeing her embarrassment and the hobble she 
was fast getting into by dint of “ odorous ” comparisons, — 
“ go now. You shall have the dress to-morrow. It is 
packed away in a trunk at this time, and stay, — you shall 
have my white silk bonnet as well.” 

“ 0 my dear Miss Mirime ! ” kissing my hand fervently, 

II no wonder you looks so queenly like. Captain Went- 
worth, he say to Mistus (I heerd him wid my own two precious 
ears) dat young lady hab de ‘ air noble/ and den he say you 
berry much like some frien ob his’n, wat libbed at Rome ob 
latter days (we passed tru dat place wen we went down 
to Augusta last May, — Miss Marion an’ me ; but it aint 
much now, for a town, I tells you), but wat used to lib down 
at Palmyra, (Jura he dun been dar too, an’ he knows de 
highest quality in dat settlement), de ‘ Queen Zenoby ’ — I 
took partickler notice of dat name ; it kind er sounded 
grand in my ears all day. Is she kinsfolk ob yourn ? Is 
she French or English, Miss Mirime ? ” 

“No, no, indeed Sylphy,” I said laughing : “I believe 
not ; but I shall read my new book with fresh interest,” I 
murmured, “ after such a suggestion.” 

It was lying uncut in my drawer, one Marion had given 
me on Christmas day, — Ware’s “ Letters from Palmyra,” so 
celebrated in their time, and unjustly forgotten now, for their 
artistic finish is beyond all praise, and defies all change. 
They deserve to be embalmed as classic. 

When I looked up from my momentary reverie, Sylphy was 
gone ; and it may be well to mention that the pink “ shal- 
ly ” morning-dress was raised to the dignity of a visiting 
pelisse in her hands, and the somewhat soiled white bonnet 
renewed its freshness above her truly pretty copper-colored 
face ; while the heart that beat in her foolish and innocent 
brown bosom was rendered radiantly happy by the posses- 
sion of both. 

“ So Captain Wentworth admired my appearance.” 


172 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


Nothing pleases a woman, not over well satisfied with her 
looks, like an indirect tribute of this kind whose sincerity 
cannot be questioned. Open flattery I had long since 
learned to despise as valueless. The very indelicacy of its 
directness was, in almost all cases, a proof of its falsity and 
the impurity of its source ; and my own ideal of beauty had 
ever been very different from and far above my own limited 
pretensions thereto. 

I got up, I remember, on this occasion, first assuring my- 
self that Bertie was sound asleep, in her little couch, lying 
with one arm under, and the other wreathed about her head, 
in her usual statuesque attitude of repose (surely no one 
ever slept so calmly, so like the unbreathing dead, as this 
emotional child) ; and crossing the room, candle in hand, I 
stared as deliberately, and dispassionately, at my own reflec- 
tion in the mirror as though I had been coolly surveying a 
stranger, or a lay-figure. 

All persons have done this once or twice at least in their 
lives, I believe, and with little more motive than actuated 
me at that moment. Yet no one would like to be observed 
in such a process, and it was pleasant to me to believe that 
my companion slumbered profoundly, while I studied with 
renewed interest the face I saw daily and yet scrutinized so 
rarely that it was to me almost like that of a stranger. I 
looked upon it now as I would have done on a portrait sud- 
denly placed before me. I saw a pale, oval face framed in 
ripples of raven hair. Lips sad, to sternness ; eyes grave, to 
mournfulness ; delicate yet imperfect features, — no ray of 
beauty there that I could trace, — an air of interest, perhaps, 
nothing beyond. As to the mere figure, why that might 
pass, I knew, — strength, suppleness, sufficient ^height, 
moulded outlines, there were ; some grace too, indisputably ; 
but beauty, — that was a different matter altogether. Queen 
Zenobia forsooth ! The man was dreaming, or the girl 
romancing, — the last impossible, I saw on second thoughts. 
( What could she know of Queen Zenobia ? ) Queenly indeed ! 
Mine was a different standard of royalty ; and, as to beauty, 
again I recalled the radiant delicacy of Evelyn Erie’s appear- 
ance and the May-rose loveliness of Mabel’s in contrast. 
Marion’s face 1 knew was infinitely handsomer than mine, 
and Madge’s even as fair. 

A Frenchwoman once told me, in her candid characteristic 
way, that, being naturally plain and ambitious of admiration, 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


173 


she had made herself pretty by dint of looking in the glass. 
The idea was, that good taste had suggested adaptation as 
the secret of success, and she made herself mistress of all 
her points good and bad, and applied them to circumstances 
by constant and disinterested self-examination. This was a 
frank expose ; and I looked upon her as a finished artiste 
from that time. But I, who had neither her taste nor talent 
for self-study, nor perseverance to contend with difficulties, 
could never have subjected myself to such martyrdom, even 
for such an end. 

It had always beeu a bore to me to look into a mirror 
which reflected so little to admire ; simply because, to make 
a full toilet was ever an irksome and irritating process to 
my impatient nature, and, for an ordinary one, very little 
guidance of this kind was sufficient. Yet I stood that night 
gazing and pondering long on every feature ; and the prac- 
tical conclusion I drew was, that the means might answer 
the end. Captain Wentworth was a man of taste and dis- 
cernment, it was plain; and he thought me “queenly.” 
Bertie was an artist born, and she had said, in her untaught, 
childish wisdom of insight, “ If I had your looks, Miss Mir- 
iam, I would go on the stage / ’ Her father had made the 
same remark from other causes. My own examination was 
favorable to these opinions ; and, for the first time, my mind 
turned seriously in that direction as a means of future for- 
tune and distinction. I had some tragic power, I knew and 
felt; and, “ if the worst came to the worst/’ as Bertie had 
said, there was a possible career before me. Besides, might 
not my own endeavor be an opening to her as well ? for I 
could not doubt that sooner or later, personal exertion or 
dependence would be the two alternatives placed before the 
daughters of Colonel Lavigne. 

“ I hope you have admired yourself sufficiently, Miss Mon- 
fort,” said a small, mocking voice behind me. I turned to 
behold Bertie leaning on her elbow watching me intently, 
and smiling derisively. It was provoking to be so pursued ; 
it was absolutely humiliating. 

“ I thought you were asleep, Bertie,” I remarked coldly, 
“or I should not have acted as if I had been quite alone. 
How long have you been feigning slumber ? ” 

“ Oh ! not at all ; you waked me up a few minutes ago, 
reciting poetry, I believe. The eternal parrot, I suppose. 
‘ I thought I heard a voice cry, “ Sleep no more.” 7 I have 


174 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


neither been watching nor eavesdropping. But it is funny 
to find out what times some people take to look in the glass 
and rehearse. I have been wondering ever since you came, 
how it was you 1 primped ’ so little, — that is Marion’s 
word, you know, for being fixy. I know all about it now. 
When other people are sound asleep, you jump up to recite 
and paint and powder. I had no idea you were such a 
designing young lady,” laughing elfishly ; “ I shall tell Cap- 
tain Wentworth, to-morrow, what I have discovered to-night, 
see if I don't,” shaking her wicked head. 

“Captain Wentworth!” I repeated, much more annoyed 
than I liked to acknowledge at the suggestive threat. One 
hates so very much to appear ridiculous or vain in the minds 
of one’s superiors in age, wisdom or position ; and my con- 
duct was and must remain inexplicable, without conde- 
scending too greatly to explain. So that, although I knew 
that Bertie was only jesting in her saucy, bitter way, yet I 
felt the disrespect of her behavior and of this last allusion 
keenly, and resented them on the spot. 

“ Bertie, you are impertinent and intrusive, and you shall 
no longer sleep in my chamber without an apology for such 
conduct.” 

“ What have I done, Miss Miriam ? ” she asked in amaze- 
ment ; sitting bolt upright in her bed, her thick hair stream- 
ing around her face, her hands clasped, her eyes aflame, a 
very vision of vixenish mischief. 

“ Done ! you have been guilty of indelicacy and rudeness 
to me, your teacher. What is it to you, whether I look in 
the glass by day or night ? What right have you to play 
the spy on every act of mine, then taunt me about what you 
cannot understand ? I choose to be private henceforth, and 
relieved from your unresting vigilance, as I have a right to 
be by contract.” 

“ That you can never be, notwithstanding,” was the 
impertinent reply : “ I shall watch you unceasingly while 
you stay at Beauseincourt. 1 A cat can look upon a king,’ 
I suppose, or even a grand tragedy queen like you. I shall 
stare at you just as much as I please, Miriam Monfort.” 

She used that name always in addressing me when 
piqued or determined to impress me, I observed, — that is, 
when we were alone together ; otherwise, no provocation 
could have wrung it from her lips. 

“ You are a little goose,” I rejoined, “ not worth mind- 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


175 


mg ; and I am ashamed to have suffered you to fret me. 
Lie down, and go to sleep ; and to-morrow, unless you 
express your regret for all you have said, I shall insist on a 
separation. ” 

“Have it as you will, madam, ” she exclaimed, with an 
outraged air : “ I offer you fire and water, as the Parthians 
did their neighbors before fighting them. You can choose 
my friendship or emnity : they are equally and eternally 
at your service/ ’ setting her teeth grimly. 

“ Thank you. I prefer peace to either,” I remarked care- 
lessly. “ I will dispense with the absurd alternatives you 
propose.” 

“ And peace you shall never have again at Beauseincourt, 
if you pursue your cold-blooded and revengeful scheme of 
banishment. I thought I heard a voice cry ‘ sleep no more ' 
shall be a little more of a reality with you, perhaps, than it 
was even with that cowardly old Macbeth that you are so 
fond of reading about. For the voice shall be mine, com- 
bined with that of the most musical cat I can obtain for 
love or money in all Lesdernier.” 

She spoke these words with shrill rapidity. 

“ Bertie, this is intolerable. I have half a mind to slap 
you soundly. Indeed were it not for my own dignity ” — 

“ That is just what I want you to do, tyrant, despot,” 
she interrupted. “ Now let the contest begin as soon as 
you like. ‘ Come on, Macduff/ Monfort, or whatever your 
true name is ! It is all the same in Yankee-Dutch.” 

I walked up to her calmly, and caught her wrists. 

“ Bertie, are you crazy ? ” I asked, “ or what does pos- 
sess you ? ” 

To my surprise she was trembling with excitement and 
as cold as marble. 

“ Child, child, what is this ? ” I asked. “ I thought you 
were more than half in fun, only impertinent; I could not 
have believed all this was real rage as well as nonsense. 
What does it all mean ? ” 

“ Oh, nothing, nothing,” trembling excessively ; “ only 
I like to tease you a little, sometimes. It is my way. But 
for you to turn upon and rend me, like an enraged tiger, 
and threaten me with your claws and exile from your room 
was something too unexpected, too dreadful. Smaller 
things than that have driven some of our race to suicide.” 
And she burst into tears, sobbing convulsively for a season 


176 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


“ Yes,” she continued, as she grew composed : 11 it is my 
way of finding people out, — to tease them is my touch- 
stone. But you are true gold, Miriam Monfort, 1 do be- 
lieve. I am so glad that hateful engineering man does not 
know your tru<> name ; he thinks Harz so ugly ; I know he 
does, — so glad no one knows it but me, my princess in 
disguise. ” 

By this time her arms were round my neck, her head on 
my breast, and she was in appearance calm. 

“ But why do you hate Captain Wentworth, Bertie ? ” I 
asked at last, impelled so to do, in despite almost of my 
own endeavor, — for this child’s instincts seemed so clear 
and fine, that they exerted undue influence, perhaps, over 
my own judgment, and I craved her real opinion of every 
one. 

“ Because he is going to take my dearest one away from 
me. I see it so plainly. I saw it from the very first. Before 
you spoke to him even. I saw it ‘ as through a glass, 
darkly,’ as you say sometimes. What does that mean, 
anyhow ? ” 

“ Child, child ! there is nothing farther from his thoughts 
or wish, or from mine,” — 

“ There, don’t speak falsely,” she said, laying her small, 
presumptuous hand over my lips ; then removing it -in- 
stantly again, she smiled up in my face. 

“ My dear, this is mere waywardness. It is not ladylike 
for you to say such things to me. 1 should be very unwo- 
manly to suffer myself to entertain any thoughts like this, 
of a mere stranger. I beg you will never repeat such folly 
to me or any one else, and I should be humbled to the dust, 
could he suspect that such a subject had ever been broached 
between us.” 

“Others think of themselves; I think only of others,” 
she replied, “ and of you most of all perhaps : so I see a great 
deal more than any one else,” shaking her head solemnly ; 
“ and I have noticed his eyes gazing on you whenever you 
look away, and yours often fixed on him, with a different 
expression, though. He seems to be drawn towards you 
as Louey’s swans are drawn after the loadstone that leads 
them to swim round the basin. But you look at him as if 
you were trying to make out where you could have seen him 
before, or to fathom his thoughts. Still it is all the same. 
' Love begets love,’ you know, and what he feels now for 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


177 


you, you will soon feel for him, It is your fate, maybe. 
Well, he is a noble man, I suppose,” with a deep-drawn 
sigh ; “ but I know this much, — when you get married, I 
shall be forgotten, all alone in the world again. The 
thought exasperates me ; I will keep you single if I can.” 

“ Bertie,” I said, without farther discussion, “ I am 
going to read my chapter in the Bible, now. Let me read 
it aloud, and you will sleep the better afterwards.” 

I read her of Ruth and Naomi, — of their constant affec- 
tion, rather; narrating the rest of the story briefly, and with- 
out those details which it was best for her not to hear, and 
winding up with a moral relevant to our own friendship. 

“You see, dear Bertie, that the marriage of Ruth made 
no difference in her love for Naomi, nor in Naomi’s for her. 
So must it be with us. Whichever way the chance falls, a 
true and large heart has room for friendship, whatever the 
ties of relationship that bind it. It is only mean and 
narrow-minded people that concentrate all feeling in self, 
and husband and wife are one, you know.” 

“Ah! you just talk so to comfort me. But I will try 
not to be selfish. I do hope Captain Wentworth is a good 
man ; but I can’t tell yet,” — and she lay wrapped in deep 
consideration, her sweet and serious eyes now fixed on the 
wall, — “ 1 must see.” 

“ Discard that idea altogether from all future conversa- 
tion of ours, and even from your thoughts, if you love me, 
Bertie,” were my last words to her that night. And, as far 
as I could perceive, I was obeyed, at least for a season, by 
this strange child. 

That evening, the last but one before New Year’s Eve, 
there was a pleasant company in the saloon of Beausein- 
court. Alice Durand and Mr. Gregory had joined our 
circle, and added fresh aliment to its half-decaying flame, 
for, before they came in, an excited discussion had taken 
place between Colonel Lavigne and his daughters, to this 
effect. 

“Papa, why must we always have the same people to 
our New Year’s dinners ? ” Madge had asked impatiently, 
after reading a flaming note from Mr. Finistere, indicating 
his approach on the following day with his daughter. 

“ ‘ Noblesse oblige,’ my dear, and consistency is a jewel. 
How often have I told you this ! Trades-people and Yan- 
kees (no offence, Miss Harz) may do things of this sort. 

11 


178 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


It is their privilege ; but our condition is different. Better 
a thousand times be cut by a friend, than cut him. The evil 
recoils in such instances. You understand me, of course ; 
I never explain. It is vulgar to be capricious. Would 
you leave out your Cousin Celia, for instance ?” 

“ Oh ! not for the world, papa.” 

“Or that butterfly, her husband ? ” 

“ Not Major Favrand, if all the rest were dropped,” said 
Marion, firmly. “ He is invaluable on such occasions.” 


“ * For what’s a butterfly at best, 
But a caterpillar dressed ? ’ ” 


murmured little Louey, in her peculiar style of irrelevant 
association, one word being enough with her to strike the 
mystic chain of ideas through her ear ; then turning oft’ 
quickly to the then popular song off “ I’d be a butterfly,” 
she hummed it in an undertone until she was sent to bed. 

“ Oh ! but papa, are we always to revolve in the same 
beaten track?” exclaimed Madge. “The Lurlies, the Fin- 
isteres, the de Bonvilles. I know what each one is going 
to say as soon as his or her lips are parted, or even before. 
It is like an old song, with a refrain at the end. The 1 blue- 
bells of Scotland,’ is not tamer. When are we to have 
something fresh ? ” beating a tattoo with her fingers on the 
table. 

“ I know not, my child. This is a penalty we have to 
pay for being permanent people, — a very slight one, I think, 
compared to the infinite disadvantages of upstartism, which 
gives, it is true, every man the liberty appertaining to insig- 
nificance ” — 

“ Of choosing his own acquaintances,” boldly interrupted 
Madge. “ I wish I were an upstart then ; or ‘ parvenu,’ 
the more elegant term of the two, I believe, is it not, Miss 
Harz, being French ? ” 

“ Mushrooms have a very pleasant time,” interpolated 
Bertie, quaintly, “ with fairies flitting about them of moon- 
light nights. I wish I were a toadstool.” 

“ I ’d be a butterfly,” Louey continued to hum softly. 

“ Your daughters are decidedly democrats, I find, Colo- 
nel Lavigne,” I said, willing to interrupt or prevent a dis- 
cussion that I feared might become unpleasant as well as 
unprofitable. “How is it with your son?” That name 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 179 

was a talisman, I knew, that always stirred his truest feel- 
ings. 

u Oh, he is staunch, loyal, true to his own, always ! ” 
his face lighting up as he spoke, “ and here is a man who 
can testify to all that,” extending his hand to Captain 
Wentworth as he entered. 

“ Well, they will all be new to him and Miss Harz, at 
least, and that is something,” Bertie mused aloud as if set- 
tling a vexed question, at the same time folding her hands 
demurely. 

“ Papa, wasn’t it Walter that called Mr. Finistere the 
hand-organ man ? ” asked Madge carelessly, with a twinkle 
in her eye, however, not to be repressed. 

“ I don’t know, my dear ; I hope not,” with agitation. 
“ Your brother would scarcely have committed such an 
impropriety, — such a solecism, — I think. Mr. Finistere 
has represented our country abroad, and deserves its con- 
sideration. The Emperor of Austria, with his own royal 
hand, presented to him” — 

“ Now we are to have the snuff-box story,” whispered 
Bertie slyly, as meek as a mouse the next moment. 

“Ahem! What are you whispering about, Robertina? 
Yes : with his own august hand, presented a suuff-box, Miss 
Harz, of chased gold surrounded with rubies, I believe” 
(addressing me, so as to fix my scattering attention) “ or it 
may be diamonds, though the intrinsic value is unimportant, 
as a parting pledge of his friendship to Albert Finistere. 
You will see it, no doubt, to-morrow, Captain Wentworth,” 
turning blandly to that gentleman, to fox his ear, detected 
in being also inattentive. 

“ Yes, no doubt,” said Bertie dryly : “ he always shows 
it, whether you ask to see it, or not. But he is stingy about 
his snuff, though, — vanilla poison. I always take a sly 
pinch just to spite him.” 

“ Very ill-bred of you, Robertina, I must confess. Little 
girls of your age should decline all such invitations, made 
from civility alone. Besides, consider the odium of snufl- 
taking as affixed to a young lady.” 

“ Miss Lurlie dips, I am sure! ” persisted the perverse 
Bertie. 

“ My dear, never repeat scandal,” said her mother, 
warmly. “It is a wretched system of bad taste.” 


180 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


“ I beard Aunt Celia tell you so,” she persevered ; “ and 
she always speaks the truth, you say.” 

“ Bertie, you are incorrigible,” I whispered. “ Be 
warned, be silent ; you seem possessed sometimes.” 

“ But dipping is not as bad as sipping, after all. Old 
Mrs. Pomeroy does both ; for I saw her myself, with her 
brandy bottle and snuff-jar together, ” — she added desper- 
ately, rising and nearing the door as she spoke: “and, 
worse than all, Miss Finistere smokes cigarettes, and 
swears like a trooper, — there’s your society I ” And, 
with a triumphant and certainly rather unrefined snap of her 
fingers, Bertie vanished. It was very wrong, — very coarse, 
even, and ill bears repetition; but Captain Wentworth was 
evidently stifling with laughter. I was convulsed with 
inward merriment for one moment, but grave the next. 
Madame Lavigne smiled in spite of her best efforts to the 
contrary ; but Colonel Lavigne was unaffectedly angry. 

“ The little limb ! ” he said. “ But what can an unaided 
man accomplish ? We must look to you, Miss Harz,” and 
he directed reproachful glances towards me, in his desire to 
throw off responsibility, — “ look to you for all amelioration 
in Bertie ; she is a hard case, I acknowledge.” 

“ I must entreat the pedagogue’s as well as pupil’s privi- 
lege of a Christmas holiday, Colonel Lavigne,” I replied, 
somewhat haughtily perhaps. “ Until that time expires, I 
will delegate to you my authority. Suffer me, if you please, 
to forget the schoolroom for a season. I will do my best 
for Bertie when rules are enforced again.” 

“ Oh ! that is all we can expect, certainly, my dear young 
lady,” clasping and rubbing his hands in a deprecating 
manner; “but it seems to me Bertie has regular relapses 
of perversity, — a sort of moral intermittent attack. She 
seemed to be improving rapidly awhile ago, under your gen- 
tle and judicious sway ; but has fallen back again from grace, 
and will likely do better once more within a week or two. 
How is this Louisa ? ” addressing his wife carelessly, to 
hide his own embarrassment. 

“ That episode of the bear unhinged her a little, Colonel 
Lavigne,” was the rejoinder. “ She is nervous, you know, 
always was, — I never could reconcile her excitable and sen- 
sitive nature with so much courage as she has demonstrated 
occasionally. When little Jack’s ankle was broken, you 
remember, she held his foot, while Doctor Durand set it, and 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS, 


181 


never flinched though she fainted away, and was ill after- 
wards. The foot was shockingly mangled, it is true, — a 
sight no one else could bear to see, not even his own mother.” 

w It is the blooded horse who swerves at his own shadow, 
that will walk up to the cannon’s mouth. Bucephalus was 
but a type,” remarked Captain Wentworth : “ the dray 
horse, whose nerves on ordinary occasions seem made of 
iron, has, we know, no heart for warlike emergencies, — and 
so it is I fancy with the human race. The bravest men I 
have ever known have been nervous subjects, as well as 
the greatest ' orators and actors. One must have high- 
strung nerves in order to feel acutely ; one must feel acute- 
ly in order to impress others. But, of course, in all such 
temperaments there is great, almost fatal reaction.” 

“ But for relaxation so great as to form a perfect contrast 
to such manifestations,” I added, “ the tightly drawn bow- 
string would burst and the weapon be destroyed. Doctor 
Sangrado’s hot water and blood-letting system of medicine 
is not so absurd as might appear, for certain patients.” 

“I am glad I am of the dray-horse order,” said Madge, 
laughing : “I like to be strong and up to every day neces- 
sities better than great emergencies. Now Miss Harz 
counts Bertie a heroine because she happens to be less afraid 
of bears than the rest of us, and has a stouter heart for sur- 
gery.” 

“ Genius has many phases,” observed Captain Wentworth, 
glancing approvingly at me, while reverting to his own 
theory. I happened to meet his eye, and I felt my cheek 
glow pleasurably, then pale in the next instant. 

“ This will never do,” I thought, repeating my soliloquy 
of the morning. “ What is this man to me ? what can he 
ever be? Nothing, — less than nothing. A shadow of a 
shade, rather ; ” and I shook my head defiantly. 

Alas, for congeniality ! It is a terrible snare even for the 
strong and consistent. Those pleasant hours in the library, 
after the breaking of the ice between us — repeated daily, 
for I sat there reading by Colonel Lavigne’s permission, a 
few hours every morning while he was out on his horse, — 
left pleasant memories, and involuntary regrets, and were 
as refreshing to my intellectual nature as a desert oasis is 
to a camel. Nay, to carry out the camel simile, I then and 
there imbibed draughts that I bore away with me, and which 
served later to quench the intolerable thirst of arid desola- 


182 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


tion, and like the scent of desert air to the creature horn for 
its solitary wastes, was the atmosphere of that book-lined 
and suggestive room to my spirit. 

On New Year’s morning as I sat alone, Captain Went- 
worth approached me with the offering of a book. It was a 
simply bound copy of Praed’s poems, then newly published, 
now out of print,* I believe, in which his own name was 
written. Not intended for me of course in the beginning, 
but none the less acceptable. 

“ Do you remember the subject of our discourse the first 
day on which I saw you in the library ? ” he asked. 

“Y^s, perfectly. It was the pleasures or pains of 
memory, I recollect.” 

“ And you took Rogers’s view, of course, as a true woman 
ought to do. I had not glanced over this little volume 
then, which I packed up among others in New York, being 
an admirer of Praed’s rare genius. By the bye, that 
charade on Campbell is the most exquisite thing of the kind 
I have ever seen. I had met with that before ; but the 
question is not of that now. The poem of ‘ Memory/ 
singularly enough, which I read yesterday, for the first 
time, embodies my own feeling exactly, — such as I de- 
scribed them to you. Please to read it, and give me your 
opinion of it, Miss Ilarz. Apart from the sentiment, which 
struck me of course at once agreeably, being coincident 
with my own, the verse is exquisite, as far as 1 am a judge. 
Every word is placed and selected with the care and accu- 
racy of a lapidary arranging fine stones for a perfect neck- 
lace, and the very sound alone in many places conveys the 
sense. Hear this, for instance,” and he read, with a sort 
of suppressed enthusiasm, very impressive to the mind, if 
monotonous to the ear, — 

“ Sleep where the thunders fly 
Across the tossing billow, 

Thy canopy the sky, 

And the lonely deck thy pillow. 

And dream, while the chill sea-foam 
In mockery dashes o’er thee, 

Of the cheerful hearth, and the quiet home, 

And the kiss of her that bore thee.” 

“Ah! I can realize all that.” His expressive voice 
failed, and his face saddened again as the earth does when 
a cloud passes over the sun. 


* This narrative claims its completion in 1858. 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


183 


“Is not your mother living, Captain Wentworth? ” I 
could not forbear asking ; his own face and the suggestion 
of the lines impelling the question irresistibly. 

“No, I have not one relation that I know of, except, per- 
haps, a sister’s child somewhere. But I have vowed never 
to try to find that relative again, dead to me in one way or 
the other, I suppose, by this time.” 

His gloomy brow forbade farther pursuance of the sub- 
ject. After a pause, it cleared up suddenly. 

“You, too, are an orphan, I believe?” he questioned, 
gazing at me earnestly and kindly. 

“ Yes ; poor and an orphan, — two bitter pills together.” 
And I smiled or tried to smile ; I was warning him now, of 
the hopelessness of his suit, — revealing my true condition. 

“ Are you alone ? ” he asked abruptly. 

“ Quite alone,” I repeated, after a moment’s hesitation. 
It was certainly true as far as regarded my present posi- 
tion and the distance and alienation of my few friends. 

“ A mournful lot indeed, for one so young,” he mused, 
shaking his head slowly. “ But you are appreciated here, 
I think ; nay, I am sure of it. 

“ Over-appreciated, I fear,” I rejoined sadly, “ which is 
always oppressive to just natures.” 

“ Ah ! that is as one may fancy. It is a good sign to see 
any person believe such a thing possible, however. Nature 
deals in compensations, and self-complacency is the strength 
of fools.” 

“ That is why we can never forgive that fault,” I said, 
“ of all others the most harmless.” 

“No; it is not harmless,” he remarked, emphatically; 
“ since it induces and insures false positions, against which 
human justice instinctively wars and rebels. I have come 
to consider it a most aggressive quality ; for I have been 
preached and prated at by a fool, until I have felt all m}’’ 
Cain instincts in the ascendancy. And I, who am not a bad 
nor violent man, as the word goes, nor yet a strictly re- 
ligious one, I acknowledge, in mere matters of conventional 
creed, have been lamented over as a lost spirit, by a wretch 
incapable of conceiving even of one of my motives, merely 
because he arrogated to himself to be a subject of divine 
grace.” 

“ This was fanatacism rather than self-complacency,” I 
argued • “ Thev are twain. Pray discriminate.” 


184 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


“ Not always,” he rejoined, briefly. 11 They are too often 
the same, identical, even.” 

“ 1 have met with such people myself,” I continued, 
“ and been counselled besides, on mere material matters, by 
those whose experiences I had mastered so long before as 
to have put them, as effete and impracticable, under foot 
completely. Yet it was scarcely worth the trouble to con- 
tend or explain ; so I suffered the tirade to prevail in some- 
what derisive silence.” 

“ Yes; you are capable of that,” he observed, with the 
look of moral survey that gave him so indifferent an air of 
interest. Paradoxical phrase ! that I do not expect to have 
understood ; but yet which conveys my meaning 1 to my own 
mind perfectly and conclusively, and as no other could; so 
let it stand. 

“ What a strange mixture of fire and frost you are, Miss 
Harz,” he added after a pause, as if he had just come to a 
conclusion. 

“ And you, I fear are critical or nothing,” I rejoined, 
*. ughing. “ I feel, sometimes when in your society, as if I 
were poised in one scale of a balance, which you were hold- 
ing, with some invisible thing in the other, against which 
ou were always weighing me. Now, I protest against 
being treated like sugar or salt, or lead or flour, or soap 
or feathers, and beg to be securely placed on terra firma 
again.” 

“It shall bo as you say,” he answered, significantly; 
“yet, perhaps it would not offend you, if you knew what 
occupied the other scale, and liow nearly your weight was 
the same. Have you no curiosity to know ? ” 

“ None,” I replied, carelessly. “ I am too faulty to stand 
comparisons, — besides too proud.” 

“ When a man weighs a woman with his ideal, and does 
not find her wanting, she need not be offended,” he said, 
gently, standing quietly before me with downcast eyes, 
and speaking in low tones of suppressed emotion. 

1 recall his very attitude as he spoke, — his feet placed 
closely together, his hands locked behind him, his head 
inclined gently foward, his body rigid. 

“Nor very greatly flattered, perhaps,” I replied. “In 
most instances, a man’s ideal is a sorry thing, as I have 
seen it realized.” 

“ And a woman’s ? ” he questioned, looking up quickly. 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


185 


“All.! that depends on the strength, height and breadth 
of her imagination, you know. Mine conjures Titans, and 
dwarfs comparison. ” 

He smiled in a sad, cynical way he had sometimes, — as 
if he saw something no one else beheld, or held the clues of 
infinite experience, — sighed, and shook his head gravely. 

“ You will throw away your ideal some day,” he ob- 
served quietly, looking at me earnestly, and I thought 
coldly ; “all women do, must do soonef or later. They are 
obliged, from the very nature of things, to be conventional. 
They have no choice.” 

“The resource of a ‘masterly inactivity/ if no more, 
they at least possess,” 1 rejoined proudly. 

“Not masterly always,” he persisted. “ Men carve the 
statues, you know. Lions are not sculptors, and JSsop pre- 
figured woman in his fable.” 

VYe were interrupted here — if interrupted it could be 
called, when, on one side at least, the conversation can 
(dare?) proceed no farther — by the entrance of Colonel 
Lavigne and General Finistere, the latter of whom had ar- 
rived in advance of his daughter. 

“ Sorry to interrupt your literary tete-a-tete,” said the 
host, with his usual courteous bow and urbane wave of the 
hand. “You could not have a better interpreter of this 
quaint old library of mine. Captain Wentworth, than Miss 
Harz ; she is a perfect bookworm, as well as a very learned 
lady.” (As who should say, a learned pig or goat. ) “My chil- 
dren have improved wonderfully under her care and tuition,” 
addressing General Finistere, a tall, gaunt man of sixty, 
who tapped his inevitable snuff-box, and bowed solemnly 
all round by way of an owlish acknowledgment to this 
remark, glancing approvingly at me athwart gray whiskers. 

The quiver of mirth convulsed my features for one mo- 
ment, as I approached the door. 

“What! going to leave us, Miss Harz? Do not let us 
disturb your useful studies, I beg. She finds this library a 
great resource, General Finistere, even as an aid to her 
future career as .a teacher and consequent hope of liveli- 
hood.” 

“ A most estimable young person, truly,” said that 
worthy, cramming an elephantine pinch of snuff into his 
narrow nostrils, from which long, gray hairs protruded 
grimly ; then, as if performing a Japanese rite of ceremony, 


186 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


extending the box silently to his host, who bowed over the 
solemn ceremonial and partook. 

“ A pair of intolerable old ganders / 7 muttered Captain 
Wentworth, between his set teeth, as he opened the door 
to suffer me to pass out : “ your patience is extraordinary / 7 

“ Substitute indifference, and you have the idea ; I cannot 
lay claim to so godlike a quality as patience. Thank you / 7 
as he gave me my book, “ and good-morning . 77 And I 
went away, Praed in hand. Ah, little book ! I found you 
a great consolation. 

On my way to my chamber I was arrested by Bertie, who 
drew me out mysteriously on one of the little stone bal- 
conies jutting forth from the state dining-room, where I 
stood, an amused spectator of two early arrivals of Madame 
Lavigne 7 s more distant and distinguished guests, — those 
who were to remain for a week of festival at Beauseincourt. 
First, drove up in her antiquated coach, Miss Finistere, the 
daughter of the worthy gentleman I had just parted with 
in the library, and who had preceded her in his sulky, in- 
stead of taking a seat in the high-swung toppling chariot, 
green externally, lined with red morocco, and which Bertie 
compared to Cinderella’s equipage, horses, coachman, color 
and all. This vehicle having speedily delivered itself of its 
precious load, including a spruce mulatto waiting-maid and 
many boxes, made way for the more stylish equipage of 
Miss Lurlie, a chocolate-colored barouche with grays, which 
came round the circle in very ambitious style, and which, 
on pausing, was found to contain three persons, — a gen- 
tleman and two ladies ; the stylish and inevitable mulatto 
maid this time being on the box with the sable coachman, 
this last in livery. 

From this carriage descended to the broad granite steps 
below, first, a gentleman, young, fashionable and foreign- 
looking ; next the ponderous Mrs. Pomeroy, Miss Lurlie’s 
aunt and propriety (not life) preserver; thirdly, and not 
without much noise of chatter and laughter and settling of 
garments and consigning of packages and shawls and flut- 
tering of flounces and feathers, Miss Lurlie herself, the cel- 
ebrated belle and beauty of that region. 

“ I wonder what the man is this time / 7 said Bertie/ 
thoughtfully ; the last was a Swede, and of all outlandish 
gibberish, his was the strangest ; the one before, a Spaniard, 
Juarez, who fought the duello 77 — 

“ About her Bertie ? 77 I asked. 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


187 


“ No > wot about her at all, — Politics ; ” she replied, sen- 
tentiously. “ But I will not tell you about that; it might 
prejudice you, and I don’t wish to do anything so mean. 
Just look at the poor man, how she keeps him waiting until 
she embraces mother and the girls. Thank Heaven, 1 am 
not there to be boa-constrictored by those long, thin arms. 
I am determined she shan’t rumple my new lace collar. I 
am taking pattern you see.” 

“ Oh, Bertie, your mother’s friend ! ” 

“Not my mother’s friend at all ; nor anybody’s, — not 
even her own, — a shallow fool.” 

“ You are too young to be so censorious, my dear,” I 
remarked : “come away.” 

“Not until she goes in. I want to observe that man ; I 
want you to observe him. It is so funny ! ” 

Later, I did so, and was introduced to him by Madame 
Lavigne, as the Count D’Agnaud, an attache of the corps 
diplomatique, — an inane and affable nobleman, worthy of 
his misspelled name, — totally harmless. He had small 
half-closed eyes, a sickly smile, a chapeau bras, which he 
held, standing, beneath his arm, sitting, between his knees ; 
while his long*, lank hands, adorned with heraldic jewels, 
and pointed finger-nails, pensively dangled above it, evi- 
dently for display. He possessed, besides a large, un- 
meaning forehead ; a small, unmeaning nose ; a peaked and 
retreating chin, on which grew a scant imperial of tufted 
black hair ; sunken cheeks ; and an interesting, sentimen- 
tal air, wholly irresistible in his own estimation at least. 
Other guests were arriving by this time, and I turned 
away somewhat ashamed of my occupation ; besides, the 
table, which I went in to look at, now demanded a part of 
my attention. I helped to adorn it with flowers arranged 
on the great, central plateau ; the board being already 
arrayed with fine giass, superb napiery, china and plate, for 
the important occasion. Aunt Felicite and Jura were in 
their element in the midst of these solemn preparations. 
No palace chamberlains were ever more impressed with the 
responsible nature of their avocation. Jura wore an an- 
tique silver watch, which he drew out from time to time, 
so as to keep ahead of, or at least pace with, the universal 
enemy ; and the bunch of keys at the side of Aunt Felicite 
was in a state of constant jingling expectation and momen- 
tary requisition. 


188 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


Their mistress was to be saved all trouble on this occa- 
sion. That was the one point of union and resolution between 
them ; for usually no dog of the cur species or feline feminin- 
ity ever disagreed more snarlingly and continually than did 
these two ancient servitors. Madame Lavigne’s condition ren- 
dered her unusually sacred in the eyes of her whole house- 
hold at this time ; and the expectation of an additional 
prince, in Queen Victoria’s palace, could not have occa- 
sioned greater interest, conjecture, or rejoicing among her 
dependants. 

When all that I could efficiently do was done and Marion 
and Madge had withdrawn to their chambers to make a 
dinner toilet, I, for the same purpose repaired to mine. 
Bertie was already dressed in her simple, speedy way, and 
had gone down to the parlor ; and 1 found Sylphy impa- 
tiently waiting my entrance, comb and brush in hand. 

“ What you gwine to w’ar to-day, Miss Mirime ? Not 
dat brown silk dress again, I does hope and pray.” 

“What then, Sylphy? Is not my ‘bronze’ gros de 
Naples, good enough ? and how do you know I have any- 
thing better ? ” I asked, surveying her keenly. 

She colored visibly through her rich brown skin, and 
said, — 

“Dat day you sent me to get the pink shally dress wat 
you give me, I felt interested to turn up a few ob dem 
odder articles, for fear ob mustiness ; and I seed some 
mighty fine clothes, I tells you. Dey’s all dar, jes’ as I 
found ’em, Miss Mirime, in de trunk, ’deed dey is. I only 
wanted to look at ’em like, for dere own good. Don’t be 
oneasy, nor out ob sorts, Mistus.” 

“Such curiosity is very impertinent, Sylphy ; but Ido 
not suspect you of more. Take the key, then, as you know 
the way already and bring me the dress at the very bottom 
of the trunk, — that folded in linen.” 

She returned with a dark maroon, velvet walking dress, 
fastened to the throat with buttons of gold and garnet, 
simply made, but of a peerless material, both for color and 
quality. 

I had determined, before she spoke, to put this on, with 
a collar of fine lace, and rose-colored bow at the throat. 
Jewels were not for the governess of Beauseincourt ; though 
stones of price lay concealed in a secret drawer of my writ- 
ing-desk. But for once, and in the sight of all these caste- 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


189 


proud Southerners, Colonel Lavigne and the rest, I would 
appear arrayed in garments such as my birth and breeding en- 
titled me to wear, regardless of present consistency, in honor 
of the past, and heedless of remark. Was there another 
lurking and unacknowledged motive ? Did I indeed want to 
look my best that day (and I knew full well the rare becom- 
ingness of that simple yet splendid dress), as I had not 
cared to do before the advent of one Christmas guest, — he 
who had secretly commended me ? 1 leave the solution to the 
sagacity and charity, both, of my reader, who, if young and 
a woman, will not deem my motives either unnatural or 
inexcusable, who, if old and crusty or hypercritical, is wel- 
come to his or her constructions and opinions. 

When I entered the drawing-room, before dinner, I found 
quite an imposing circle drawn at a deferential distance 
around the brilliant, crackling fires, so suggestive of the 
season, although through the open casement of the Southern 
windows came the balmy breath of Spring laden with the 
perfume of flowers and the song of birds. 

Doctor and Mrs. Durand, with two of their daughters ; 
Mr. and Mrs. de Bonville, a cheerful, cosey, middle-aged 
couple ; Major and Madame Favrand ; and a few young 
gentlemen, undoubtedly indigenous to the soil, had been 
added to the company since the day before. 

Madame Favrand had made an unusual effort to join the 
party, which she considered it almost a family duty to do on 
New Year’s Day, as had been the custom of all of the relatives 
from the beginning of the Lavigne settlement. The French 
idea of the importance of the “ Jour de L’ an,” celebration 
still prevailed among them ; and this had always, by 
common consent, been held at “ Beauseincourt,” the master 
of which, had — from the fact, probably, of its having been 
the nucleus of the name in ftiat region — been ever ac- 
knowledged the head of the line, from first to last, by 
acclamation. 

The seal of approaching death was, however, unmistak- 
ably placed on the face of this sad and, to me, beautiful and 
inexpressibly interesting woman. 


m 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


CHAPTER XI. 

t N oval table of great width (the central portion of 
which was completely filled by a plateau of glass 
and silver, illumined and ornamented with wax 
lights in rich candelabra and the rarest flowers from 
the conservatory of Bellevue) was surrounded by 
some twenty guests at six o’clock on New Year’s 
^ evening. The rich array of china, glass, and silver 
that covered the board presented a singular mixture of 
ancient and modern styles and devices ; one portion having 
been the heritage of Colonel Lavigne, the other the gift of 
Mr. Benoit, the once affluent merchant, to his daughter on 
the occasion of her marriage. 

Side tables neatly spread in the recesses of the apart- 
ment, were in readiness for such guests or members of the 
family as could not find seats at the principal table, or who 
might happen in accidentally at the eleventh hour. This is 
an established Southern custom at which no one takes 
umbrage. 

At one of these Madge presided, with a party of young 
friends ; at the other Louey and Laura held festival with 
the children of Mr. and Mrs. de Bonville. To complete the 
hospitable arrangements, a long, narrow marble slab, run- 
ning along one side of the apartment, was arrayed with 
wines, breads, sauces, jellies and piles of plates and silver, 
in readiness for the well-trained waiters. 

The meats were placed and carved on the table in ancient 
style. The vegetables alone were handed ; and each course 
consisted of an equal number of dishes, differently prepared, 
so that the table was entirely cleared between boiled and 
stewed, and roast and broiled ; between the reign of plum 
pudding, mince-ples, jellies, tarts and custards, and the 
more ethereal presence of fruits, candies and fancy cakes, 
with the crowning ornament of the Calhoun Castle, placed 
conspicuously in the centre. 

Such was the style of the stereotyped Southern dinners 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


191 


of those plenteous days, before the Russian mode prevailed, 
so conducive to conversation and the “ dolce far niente,” 
which last, we are told, is in turn so favorable to digestion. 
“The specimen scrap style,” it may be called in many 
cases, which economists find congenial and hotel-keepers 
convenient, but at which beggars and servants no doubt, 
repine. 

Carving was no sinecure in those days, and the post of 
lionor was not always the seat of comfort ; for it was then 
considered quite complimentary to ask a guest to dissect a 
fowl, or carve a roast, — a sort of tribute to his skill in this 
very gentlemanlike accomplishment. 

I remember that Doctor Durand and Mr. de Bonville were 
both pressed into the service on this occasion ; Major Fav- 
rand graciously and magnanimously declining the honor 
vouchsafed him, as a relative, in favor of Mr. Maginnis 
(a stranger in the gates, who sat on my left, while the kins- 
man himself occupied the seat at my right hand), on the 
plea that it would consume every moment of his unoccupied 
time to attend properly to the wants of the lady he had 
escorted to the table, which pointed remark, of course, 
drew all eyes rather merrily in the direction of my plate. 
Mr. Maginnis had by some irrelevance in the numbers of the 
guests, as to the difference of sex and his own skilful 
avoidance of incumbrance, perhaps, managed to straggle in 
alone ; and, being fond of the pleasures of the table, had 
no doubt secretly felicitated himself on his independent 
condition and exemption from family duties, when he found 
himself, publicly and without his own consent, elevated to 
the honorable distinction of “ Dissector of Ducks,” by 
Major Favrand's cool and supercilious announcement. 

His face clouded unmistakably, at his summary instal- 
ment into a post of honor that he had not tact enough to 
know how to decline, and which he certainly found no sin- 
ecure. The annoyance must have been increased by the 
impertinent declaration of his persecutor, which I have 
reason to think reached his -ears, that by this act of oppres- 
sion, he (Major Favrand), had been the means of saving 
him from a stroke of apoplexy, and therefore had conferred 
upon him the very greatest favor that one man could have 
accorded to another ; though in his benighted gourmandise, 
Maginnis was ungrateful enough not to recognize the dis- 
interested benevolence that guided this act of self sacrifice. 


192 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


“For every one knows,” pursued the Major, “how de- 
voted I am to dispensing gratifications, and how little I 
care about eating ; so that my motive is plain. I have this 
consolation of virtue, at all events.” 

Captain Wentworth, as an entire stranger, was apprised 
that Madame Lavigne would accept his escort to the table ; 
and Colonel Lavigne, as had been his custom for years on 
such occasions, gave his arm to Madame Favrand. The 
rest were paired off or divided as suited themselves, or as 
accident would have it. Doctor Durand and Miss Finistere, 
I remember, sailed in together, — the lady in a purple bro- 
cade, with a bird-of-paradise feather perched on the very 
summit of her massive head. Large, stolid-looking, middle- 
aged and common-place, in spite of her long residence 
abroad at one of the first courts of Europe — which exile of 
twenty years had no doubt consigned her to celibacy. 
Madame de Bonville, a sparkling little brunette, short, 
plump, and snub-nosed, but with bright eyes, white teeth 
and far from ugly, hung, basket-fashion on the arm of long, 
lank, Mr. Finistere, an old gentleman of a bird-like visage 
and self-conscious deportment — very aristocratic, and pat- 
ronizing, and possessing only tho “one fault” of Tally- 
rand’s female friend, (that of being insufferable.) 

Messrs. Vernon and Gregory, two young men of very 
opposite characteristics of manner and appearance, with 
one of whom we are already slightly acquainted — both 
gentlemanly and intelligent, however, were in charge of 
Marion and Miss Alice Durand, pleasant and pretty girls, 
certainly, in the same style of sweet monotony. Mr. de Bon- 
ville a spruce little man who looked like a jay-bird, crest 
and all, divided his attentions between his plate and Mrs. 
Pomeroy, who required, as he said, only to be fed, wined 
and watered. And Miss Lurlie, all flutter and fermentation, 
was under the especial charge of her pensive “ Brebis ” as 
Major Favrand insisted on miscalling the Count D’Agnaud, 
giving as his excuse, that the meaning of a name was all 
one need care for, and that foreign synonymes were puzzling 
to the brain. 

Miss Lurlie and her Count of the Louis Philippe school, 
(St Germain’s had never had much to do with his blood and 
breeding evidently,) sat opposite to me and occupied much 
of my time in spite of the very amusing efforts made by 
Major Favrand for my entertainment. 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


193 


My fair vis-a-vis was a Southern blonde — a very different 
affair from her white and red, gold and azure sisters of the 
North, yet exceeding these in piquancy and variety of ex- 
pression, as far as she fell behind them in mere brilliancy of 
coloring. Her sallowness was relieved by a judicious ap- 
plication of the very best Paris rouge. Her long, light 
ringlets were frizzed into a semblance of vitality, and she 
managed to keep these in motion almost as incessant as that 
of a humming-bird, when poised above a flower. She had 
small, correct features, white teeth and a bewitching lan- 
guishing smile ; greenish gray eyes, of singular shape and 
opaline variety of hue and expression ; a slender, oval 
face ; a long, lithe throat ; an ou stretched, meagre neck, 
lustrous with pearl powder and pitiably bare ; a shrill and 
wiry voice */ small, thin hands with hooked and pointed fin- 
gers, the nails being worn “ a la chinoise,” and resembling 
those of one of the lesser birds of prey ; skeleton arms and, 
as well as could be seen, an irreproachable figure. 

Her dress was of blue satin, relieved by white blonde, 
exquisitely made and fitting to a fault, it seemed to me, 
though Major Favrand impertinently declared he had seen 
the same dress standing up alone in her dressing-room as 
he passed an hour before dinner, with nothing but the head 
wanting to represent Miss Lurlie. But her chief attraction, 
perhaps, still remains untold. Upon her neck, her arms, her 
brow (this last ornament in the shape of a tiara), she wore 
diamonds of unusual size and water — representations of her 
fortune and rank, which never failed to assert both, in the 
eyes of the many-headed monster she sought to please. She 
was about twenty-five years of age, but already faded ; yet 
in spite of this and many other drawbacks, she was indis- 
putably a beauty of no common order and entitled to a lofty 
place as a successful coquette. 

She made the very common mistake of those who speak 
a foreign language indifferently, when thrown with foreign- 
ers conversant with their own, and insisted on speaking 
“ French , ” to the Comte D r Agnaud who perversely replied 
in English, his effort at the vernacular being the more suc- 
cessful of the two. 

** Why will she try to be incomprehensible ? ” said Major 
Favrand, gravely : “ he understands her English, her French 
is a mystery to the poor man. See how puzzled he looks 
every now and then, and how fiercely she gesticulates by . 

12 


194 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


way of explanation. I pity them both inexpressibly. They 
are at cross-questions, evidently. ” 

At last Miss Lurlie made an idiomatic error, so absurd and 
sudden that I could not forbear smiling as it reached my 
ear, and looking up I saw the eyes of the Count fastened on 
my face, with the eager, wistful expression of a hungry 
child. 

“You speak Franche, Mademoiselle?” he asked impul- 
sively, across the table, leaning forward as he spoke. 

I bowed in confirmation of the accusation, adding, — 

“ With an English accent, however, I fear.” 

“ Ah, no 1 I am sure you speak my language perfectly. 
It is such refreshment to me to know that any one near 
me can do this. I am afraid I am cause of much trouble to 
Miss Lurley, who is indefatigable to speak with me in my 
own tongue. You will assist her, Mademoiselle, I know ; 
you have such benevolent smile ! After dinner-time we will 
try for a conversation.” 

“ Yes ; I have no doubt Miss Harz is a finished French 
scholar,” said Miss Lurlie, snappishly ; “ she had a motive 
in studying languages which, unfortunately, I never had.” 
drawing herself up arrogantly. “ Do you speak Italian 
also, Miss Harz ? German ? ” with half-closed eyes and a 
condescending air ; “ Spanish — Portugese ? ” 

“No, I read the first with pleasure to myself. Of the 
last I know nothing, not even the German character.” 

“Yet yours is a German-Jew name it seems to me!” 
superciliously. 

“And yours a maritime one, ‘ very ancient and fish- 
like/ ” I rejoined, carelessly laughing as I spoke. “ Un- 
dine has cousins of your name probably.” 

“You amaze me 1 I thought mine a very aristocratic 
name, not commercial at all. And who was Undine ? To 
what do you allude ? Pray satisfy my impatience.” 

“The Lurlie of German story is a sort of mermaid or 
syren I believe. You know this of course, however, con- 
versant as you are with literature.” 

“ Pardon me, if I am still incredulous ! ” with a haughty, 
but embarrassed bow that stirred my blood. 

“ I refer you to legendary lore for all further information,” 
I rejoined, “ and to Shakespeare for my quotation. I do 
not stake my veracity on this matter at all. It is open to 
investigation. * Where ignorance is bliss,’ you know 1 I 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 195 

need not finish the quotation, of course ; it is trite and 
hackneyed, if apt.” 

Turning to Major Favrand a moment later, I saw from 
the merry twinkle of his eye, that he had heard and en- 
joyed our pass-at-arms — he alone I believe. Mr. Maginnis 
was far too much absorbed in his plate to be drawn aside by 
trifles ; and others too much occupied with one another. 
But here comes a revelation, I am almost ashamed to make, 
of the very feminine, yet wholly inexcusable revenge, I 
wreaked this time on my mermaidish adversary. I, for a 
season, deliberately deprived her of her own, legitimate, im- 
ported beau ! Not that I inspired him with a violent pas- 
sion, or wished to do so ; I simply interested and amused 
him, which she did not, and the grateful creature clung to 
me spasmodically. He was intensely egotistical, as was 
Miss Lurlie herself, so it may be imagined how dreary were 
their “ entretiens ! ” In me he found a listener capable of 
understanding his French tirades (chiefly composed of quo- 
tations from Fngene Sue, which he ’was always obliged to 
render into English for her benefit and comprehension) and 
able to reply in his own language, whenever such reciproc- 
ity was deemed necessary or advisable. Without an effort I 
held the Comte D’Agnaud in chains for three days of ex- 
treme ennui to myself and mortal anguish to the deserted 
Lurlie, who tried in vain to call Captain Wentworth to her 
rescue, and failing him, one of the aids, or even the de- 
spised “indigenous.” Neither of these gentlemen chose 
to serve as make-shifts for her coquettish needs, however, 
or to wear her chameleon colors, so that the poor Lurlie 
needed only a harp to personate her forsaken prototype. 

None enjoyed my victory like Major Favrand — whose 
aversion to Miss Lurlie was extreme and unaccountable. 
But I grew heartily ashamed of the whole proceeding, when 
I caught by mere accident one evening the eyes of Captain 
Wentworth fixed upon me in grave and sorrowful sur- 
prise and even displeasure. From that moment the zest of 
the drama was over. I saw my conduct in its true light 
and loosed the chains of the pet Gallic lambkin on the spot. 
He accused me of caprice, I understood, but the end of it 
was, before many hours, he gambolled back to his injured 
Lurlie, penitent and disappointed, yet forgiven ; and the 
little interlude was at an end. 

And now let us “return to our Moutons” paradoxically 


196 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


enough in this case — by leaving one of them with whom 
we have wandered too far already from the scene of ac- 
tion and pleasant pasture ground. A well-spread dinner- 
table, surrounded by a variety of guests, young and old, 
grave and gay ; rather quiet just now, for every one is 
startled, when fitting his eye-glass to his nose, so as to as- 
certain her exact position with regard to his own, quite a 
remote one, and thrusting his head forward like a wild 
goose before a storm, Mr. Fiuistere, the ex-minister of Aus- 
tria addresses his daughter loudly by name, — 

“ Adelgitha, my dear, can you tell me the exact day on 
which his Majesty presented me with my snuff-box ? Mrs. 
de Bonville is desirou^ to know, and the date escapes my 
memory. ** 

“ You will find it engraved on the inside of your snuff- 
box lid, papa/’ in clear, sonorous accents ; “ but it is of no 
consequence at all, it seems to me,” dryly. 

“ Oh ! permit me to differ with you, my dear Miss Finis- 
tere,*’ expostulated Mrs. de Bonville, looking archly around 
the decanters at the distant and dignified Adelgitha, with 
whom she was placed in line, and clasping her small, plump 
hands with real or affected enthusiasm ; “ it is of the 
greatest consequence to Mr. Finistere's friends to know all 
that concerns so very gratifying an incident, which is re- 
flected, of course, on his countrymen and even women, I 
flatter myself. Am 1 not right, Colonel Lavigne 

The low response escaped my ear. But a sudden and in- 
stantly recognized, though smothered, peal of laughter, 
smote upon it, that made my blood tingle to my fingers* 
ends. It was Bertie, at the side-table, who had been lying 
in ambush for her occasion. It had come ; and for this de- 
linquent I was responsible. 

“ What will she do next ? ” I thought with terror. But 
Madge had the good feeling or tact to cover up her rude- 
ness with some well-timed remark or allusion to the ex- 
tremely humorous sallies of young Mr. Duganne, one of 
the fortunate “ indigenous,** who shared the freedom and 
fun of the side-table, as well as the dainties of the central 
board, and was an object of envy to Captain Wentworth's 
aides, laboring for the nonce, under no slight constraint. 

Marion and Miss Durand were pinks of propriety, cer- 
tainly, and full of maidenly sweetness ; but they had by 
no means the power of putting people at their ease by mak- 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


197 


ing them forget their own identity, that belonged to Madge 
by nature, or the variety of mood that made Bertie irresisti- 
bly interesting in spite of her many imperfections. 

The conversation of that dinner-table, like most such, 
would be little worth recording. Some snatches thereof, 
that reached my ear either at the moment or by subsequent 
report, may give an idea of its general purport, or the 
“ conglomerated whole / 1 as Major Favrand said, when gaz- 
ing with an air of ineffable disgust, not unmixed with curi- 
osity and pity, into the plate of Mr. Maginnis. 

It is chiefly from pencillings of his own, which I am, how- 
ever, by no means willing to endorse, that the table-talk of 
“ Lesdernier,” is preserved for posterity. He called it 
“ Gossypiana,”* in compliment, as he averred, not only to 
the chief staple of that region but the tone of the conversa- 
tion, and begged that I would insert it in my diary as a me- 
morial of Beauseincourt. Written in his own clear, yet 
cramped chirography, I find it there, and venture to add it 
to my more truthful report, giving it for what it is worth, 
and as such let it pass, scribbled off as it was, in a moment 
of impulsive merriment. 

Specimens of Table-talk, from the Note-book of a Nullifier. 

SCENE FIRST. 

MISS LURLIE AND COUNT d’aGNAUD 

Miss Lurlie (rolling her eyes like the automaton chess- 
player when about to make a move). — “ Robert Le Diable ! 
Oh, the most angelic thing ! vous avez raisorig mong chair 
compte ! The ghost scene in the church-yard impresses 
me as the most picturesque affair I ever beheld. Then the 
dancing of the dead nuns — truly exquisite — and such an 
unexpected stroke of genius : * si natural ! tout a fait en- 
chantant n'est ce pas ? ' ” 

M. Le Comte. — “ Ah, oui ma chere Demoiselle ; but I 
prefer so much the ' Frere Diavola ! ' It stirrs my martial 
blood. ‘ Sang de Charlemagne ! ; Den ze ‘ Gentle Zittella/ ” 
murmuring low, and plucking at an imaginary guitar in the 
air, “ vat incomparable sweetness — legerete ! Don't you 
zink ? ” 


* The cotton plant is Gossypium, botanically. 


198 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


Miss Lurlie. — “ La Dame Blanche/ 7 Que e 7 est tendre 
• — que e 7 est jolie ! cet air surtout, 77 murmuring low, with 
a voice like a bird organ; “La Dame Blanche. La Dame 
Blanche vous attend ! 77 at the same time casting an irresist- 
ible glance at her “ Brebis. 77 

M. Le Comte. — “ Ah, Mademoiselle, you have de finest 
taste, sans doute, I have yet made encounter vis in 
America ; both in art and de magical effect of de toilette 1 
Que vous 6tes ravissante ce soir — Quelle toilette incom- 
parable. What splendor ! 77 with an air of studied tender- 
ness. 

Miss Lurlie. — “ Ah ! mes diamans sans doute, 77 casting 
down her large gooseberry eyes coquettishly, then glancing 
at him out of their corners, archly. 

M. Le Comte. — “ Non, Mademoiselle ; c’est Fetincelle des 
beaux yeux ! 77 (aside) “ de votre cassette/ 7 

Major Favrand, across the way, innocently whistles low, 
the popular air of “ All in my eye, Betty Martin/ 7 adding 
(after glancing at his neighbor’s plate, a duty he never 
loses sight of for one moment) — “ Don’t you take rice with 
your Gumbo, Miss Harz ? All the orthodox do 77 (helping 
her as he adds,) “ the rice crop is a failure this year. Glad 
of it for my part. Poor negroes will rest. Besides that, 
tired of playing Chinese merchant, for the sake of a little 
filthy dross. 77 

Miss Harz.— “ 1 Cast your bread upon the waters, 7 was 
said apropos of rice, so Missionary Judson tells us in his 
interesting memoirs, and your remark, Major Favrand, is an 
elucidation of the idea. You will reap gratitude, no doubt, 
a better harvest than rice, if not so merchantable. 77 

Major Favrand. — “ Gratitude ! I have heard of that plant 
before, Miss Harz, but have never met with it. Is it edible ? 
If so, please to instruct me how to prepare it, as you say 
it is better than rice, which I consider a very good sort of 
background in the way of food. 77 

Miss Harz — “ I see you are determined to wear your 
cap and bells to day. Well, jingle away, so that you do it 
merrily and 1 con amore ; 7 1 am devoted to foolishness — 
the real Simon Pure I mean, not your deadly, lively folly 
like 77 — 

Major Favrand, (interrupting her). — “Old Finistere 7 s ! 
Why don 7 t that man’s guardian angel take better care of 
him and keep him from absurdities T Or perhaps he is tired 
out, as somebody says. Who was it Miss Harz ? 77 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


199 


Miss Harz (pragmatically) . — “Charles Lamb I believe. 
1 am astonished at your desultory style of quotation Major 
Favrand. You never get anything straight or perfect.” 

Major Favrand. — “‘Speak of the devil!’ you know — 
Hearken ! old Finistere is at it again. ‘ Still harping on my ’ 
snuff-box, as Shakespeare says. There 1 I got it right this 
time, Miss Harz. I shall get the gold medal at your exami- 
nation yet. But we are losing oracles. Attention, pray ! ” 

General Finistere. — “ I cannot be certain as to the very 
hour, Mrs. de Bonville, but I presume I am right in alleging 
that it was between the hours of eleven and twelve on that 
never-to-be-forgotten day. It was raining too, I distinctly 
remember, for my coachman handed me liis umbrella as I 
descended slowly from my carriage at the Imperial Port 
cochere.” 

Madame de Bonville (with enthusiasm). — “ How ominous 
that must have seemed to you ! Raining ? But I hope you 
reached his Imperial Majesty’s presence dry ? ” 

General Finistere (literally). — “ Yes, very dry my dear 
madame. But the best of good liquors were always stand- 
ing on the beaufet in the ante-chamber, and I refreshed 
myself I assure you, before entering the imperial presence.” 

Madame de Bonville (nothing staggered by this literal- 
ism). — “How your loyal heart must have beat as you 
approached the Imperial Ruler, seated aloft on his throne 
like Solomon ! What robes had he on ? Do describe 
them, General Finistere. I declare the very idea of royalty 
agitates me strangely. I am so anti-democratic ! Did he 
wear his crown ? ” fanning herself violently. 

General Finistere. — “No my dear madame, only his 
toupee and dressing-gown of pink brocade. You ladies 
have such strange, exalted ideas of royalty. The Emperor 
was not so widely different from any other man as you might 
suppose. He was not unlike,” hesitating for a moment for 
a comparison, then suddenly finding one, “ my friend Col- 
onel Lavigne here.” 

Madame de Bonville (eyeing Colonel Lavigne with strange 
reverence). — “ Indeed ! ” She inclines her head before him 
profoundly. 

Colonel Lavigne (interested suddenly). — “ Describe the 
interview my dear General, I always hear you relate it with 
fresh interest — though for the nine hundred and ninety- 
ninth time ! It was truly thrilling ! ” 


200 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


Change of Scene. 

Miss Marion Lavigne. — “Olives indeed! No, I can’t 
endure them, nor “Fox-grass” pies — nor “patty Peri- 
gogs ” either, as our maid Sylphy calls those foreign dain- 
ties !” 

Mr. Gregory (declaiming loftily, from association of ideas 
as he helps himself to olives), — 

“ On Calpe’s olive covered steeps 
On India’s citron covered Isles.’ 

Miss Durand (timidly, aside). — “ How grand ! he must be 
an actor or poet in disguise. T. H. Bailey, himself, perhaps, 
or who knows N. P. Willis in disguise, possibly.” 

Miss Lavigne. — “ To return to our subject, Mr. Gregory. 
Can it be true, that the poor geese who furnish the material 
for these uneatable pates are really subjected to the torture 
of slow fires for such a purpose ? It seems almost incredible 
to me ; such inhumanity ! ” 

Mr. Gregory (sentimentally). — “Alas ! too true, I fear, 
compassionate lady, but it must be confessed these are not 
the only geese ” (laying his hand on his breast with a tender 
air) “ who are subjected to such an ordeal. The torture is 
by no means confined to the feathered tribes, I assure you ; ” 
with a significant and reproachful glance and deferential 
bend of the head scarcely to be mistaken. 

Miss Lavigne (whispering to Miss Durand). — “ What can 
he mean ? Do enlighten me, Alice, if possible. I cannot 
understand his allusions I confess. He deals in mysteries.” 

Miss Durand. — “ Nor I ; something classical no doubt. 
He seems a very well informed and compassionate mau, for 
a Yankee. Let us change the subject.” 

Madame Favrand. — “ Yes, Cousin Prosper, we are tired 
of everything. ‘ Toujours perdrix/ you know. We live 
chiefly on bread-fruit, and fresh tamarinds just now. Our 
Mangosteens are not ripe yet — I am not fastidious, however, 
— I eat an ortolan or a gold fish occasionally ! ” 

Colonel Lavigne (sympathizingly). — “ Flying fish are 
better. I will send you some when I next go out — bear- 
hunting.” He is a little absent to-day evidently ! and the 
conversation terminates abruptly in consequence. 

Doctor Durand (enthusiastically). — “1 assure you my 
dear Miss Finistere, he bore the operation bravely — never 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


2 U 


winced once — though I took off a toe at a time before ampu- 
tating the whole foot, just to try his nerve. I shall always 
believe hereafter in his boasted Indian lineage. The exper- 
iment was satisfactory.” 

Miss Finistere — “I always thought he had the 1 air noble.’ 
The blood of 1 Wotchy Toehee,’ is our best aristocracy. 
And in spite of his habits, I shall claim him as a kinsman, 
from this time forth, as our friend Colonel Lavigne remarks 
with great originality, ' noblesse oblige ’ — I have avoided 
him hitherto, 1 confess.” 

Doctor Durand. — “I forgot to say he died under the 
amputation. A martyr to the noble cause of science.” 

Miss Finistere. — “ Ah ! that changes matters ! You see 
what my intention was, nevertheless. I shall make it my 
affair to set it forth in his epitaph. A great relief however, 
his death, temporally speaking. Cross-bones and toma- 
hawks ! Don’t you think that will be best as his tomb-stone 
crest ? ” 

Doctor Durand (with his mouth full). — “ These terrapins 
are delicious ; try some. Yes, yes, cross-bones and toma- 
hawks, by all means, and scalps too if you like. He 
deserves as far as lineage goes, almost any token of consid- 
eration. By the by, it is funny how these egg-plants ever 
get back in their skins again, — so much better than they 
went out of them ! ” 

Miss Finistere (loftily). — “I will send you the receipt 
as soon as I go home. It is almost the same as that for 
stuffed crabs. You seem to understand that proceeding, 
however. (It is a pity some men’s brains can’t undergo the 
same process, without injury to life.) (Aside.) People of 
one idea, I detest.” 

Madame Lavigne (plaintively to Captain Wentworth, who 
seems so far to be a mere looker on in Vienna). — “I have 
succeeded at last in getting a soufflet dish of silver, and 
teaching my cook, Candice how to make them. I hope the 
Count will find this well prepared. I believe no Frenchman 
of high rank ever dines without soufflets. By the bye, what 
‘gaiete de coeur ’ all foreigners seem to have.” (A novel 
and striking remark this, it must be confessed !) 

Captain Wentworth. — “ And ‘ gaietes d’estomac ’ — as 
well ! I have often marvelled at the powers of assimilation 
displayed by the French noblesse. One third of the food, 
that goes to bone and skin, apparently in their case, would 
cause a Itepublican to explode into a hundred bloody frag- 


202 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


merits ! The fact is, my dear madame >y in a confidential 
whisper, “ Dyspepsia is the skeleton in our American closet. 
It grins at us from every crevice, it sits with us at every 
feast, like the far-famed mummy of Egypt. I think I see it 
now,” tragically raising his hand and pointing forward. 

Madame Lavigne (starting, with a little shriek). “ Where, 
Captain Wentworth ? ” 

Answer not intelligible, nor important if it were. Went- 
worth falls back in reverie. 

Mrs. Durand (in answer to Mr. Maginnis, his remark being 
unfortunately lost to fame). — “ Excellent certainly! But 
I prefer Gopher gumbo decidedly. It won’t do to say so, 
however, to ears polite.” 

Mr. Maginnis (gruffly). — “No, what would Mrs. Grundy 
say ? ” 

Mrs. Durand. — “Mrs. Grundy! Iam not acquainted 
with the lady you allude to. Pray, where does she reside ? ” 

Mr. Maginnis (chuckling). — “ Oh! pretty much every- 
where.” 

Mrs. Pomeroy (arousing herself suddenly, like the Proph- 
etess in Gray’s descent of Odin, and unclosing her lips to 
speak). — “ Mrs. Grundy, did you say ? Oh, we knew her 
very well abroad, Lily and I. She lives in Nashville, Ten- 
nessee, and her husband is a Congressman, or store-keeper, I 
don’t know which.” 

Mr. Maginnis (grunting). — “ Both, perhaps madame — 
both — the thing is not impossible at all, in a land like this. 
But we refer to different persons.” Indulging here in an 
unaccountable guffaw. After which he lapses into silence 
and his plate again, and reverses the operation of stuffing 
ducks. 

Mr. de Bonville (shrilly across the table to Major Fav- 
rand, who starts, as if a pistol had been fired in his ear). — • 
“Yes, sir! we make five bales to the acre this year, and 
even that is an unusual yield for the uplands. Well ! cal- 
culate that at seven cents a pound and you have the results 
of our labors, hauling over bad roads included. You rice 
planters fare far better, even if you lose a crop occasionally. 
Besides that, bagging was never so high, and as to rope, 
a man would have to hesitate on the score of expense, before 
venturing to hang himself! ” smiling jauntily at this satiri- 
cal stroke of sudden manufacture. 

Mr. Maginnis (taking up the thread of discourse, not 
thrown to him at all). — “ But we cotton brokers are the 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


203 


losers after all ; I assure you no class of men was ever, 
more disinterestedly benevolent and devoted to the plant- 1 
ing interest, than the much abused one I myself belong 
to. The self-sacrifice of the commission merchant is some- 
thing borderiug on the sublime. But you know this of 
course, gentlemen ;” falling to work again. 

Major Favrand hums low, the popular air of “ Scots wba 
liae wi’ Wallace bled,” as a pleasing exemplification of the 
idea propounded by the liberal Scotch merchant. 

Colonel Lavigue (from the foot of the table to his spouse 
at the head). — “ Louisa, my dear, is this Burgundy of the 
brand of the ‘ Blood of the Huguenots/ or the * Tears of the 
French exile ? ’ or rather from which side of the cellar was 
it procured ? I ask for information, wishing to be accurate. 
There is a wager pending on the subject between Finistere 
and myself, to be honest with you.” 

Madame Lavigne (anxiously) — “ I am not sure which. 
Jura can tell you probably, as he is our butler. I never 
descend into particulars, or the cellar.” 

Colonel Lavigne (majestically). — “ Come hither, Jura. 
From which side of the cellar did you procure this Bur- 
gundy ? That decides the question.” 

Jura (bowing reverentially). — “From de Norf side, 
Masta ; dat’s de New York side. Bis de las’ red currant 
wine ; de gooseberry on de oder side, long wid de New 
Burgh champagne.” 

Colonel Lavigne (freezingly). — “That will do, JuiA. 
Just as I supposed; you know nothing about the matter. 
I ought to give such things personal attention. The wager 
is yours General Finistere. This is the * Exile’s Tears/ 
though I thought at first, the * Blood of the Huguenots ; ’ 
the first wines, gentlemen, made in Burgundy after the 
Revocation of the Edict of Nantz.” 

, A low groan, confirmatory of the truth of these remarks, 
is heard from Bertie at the side table. Major Favrand is 
suddenly seized with a violent fit of coughing, and Miss 
Harz pats him on the back compassionately until relieved ; 
after this general confusion for a time prevails. 

Colonel Lavigne (loftily). — “ Bring in the punch-bowl, 
King, and don’t fall into Jura’s errors on the subject of the 
ingredients for punch. When you have recovered from 
your distressing paroxysm, Major Favrand, be good enough 
to instruct my servant as to the materials requisite for your 


204 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


famous ‘ Ponche Brulie/ whicii you proposed to compound 
for the benefit of my guests on this occasion. Should your 
experience fail, our friend, Le Comte D’Agnaud, will no 
doubt be good enough to assist your memory. ” 

Major Favrand, frightened to death at this indirect repri- 
mand, immediately issues his orders in the most clear and 
rapid manner to King, M. Le Comte, nodding approval at 
every item — “ Bring me the punch-bowl, King. The Green 
Seal Champagne, Absinthe, Schneider Schnapps, Cognac 
brandy, Noyau and Curacoa cordials, decoction of green 
tea, essence of bitter almonds, sugar and lemons ; don’t 
forget one article or the punch will be a failure. ” 

“Yet Monseuir le Majeur Favrand have forget vun, of 
vich I beg leave most humbly to recommend a leetle drop,” 
says the Count D’Agnaud, rubbing his fishy looking hands 
together. 

Major Favrand (benignly ). — 11 Suggest it if you please, 
Monsieur Le Comte ; it is never too late to learn.” 

“ Watair! von leetle vine-glass-full, dat is vat de recipe 
calls for, if I mistake not.” 

The company, at this witticism, falls off into convulsions 
of merriment, during which, Major Favrand sneaks under 
the table, and Miss Harz is obliged, in default, to prepare 
the punch from memory ; the Count kindling it, as he has 
frequently done rivers before, with the fire of his own bril- 
liant imagination. 

These specimens of Major Favrand’s local wit and vigi- 
lance must suffice, — and no doubt have long since sufficed, 
— yet as indications of character, they were not without 
some merit. One slight additional incident drawn from 
my own experience, and we will dismiss our Southern 
dinner to take its place with other departed festivals and 
ghosts of feasts. 

When the “ Ponche Brulie,” compounded by Major Fav- 
rand, and pretty nearly of the ingredients he enumerated, 
set on fire at the last and burned for some minutes before 
being partaken of, had been tasted and declared delicious, 
by all present, he rose from the central seat he occupied, 
after receiving an expressive glance from Madame Lavigne, 
and, not without much pomp of circumstance and real solem- 
nity of manner, prepared to cut the celebrated Calhoun 
Cake, which had been made the theme of Sylphy’s story 
and the exterior of which she had described with consider* 
ble accuracy. 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


205 


Major Favrand was evidently in earnest now ; indeed his 
eager and concentrated looks surprised me, on what seemed 
to me so unimportant an occasion. I did not know at that 
time what a bitter and uncompromising partisan he was, 
nor read, beneath his frivolous exterior, the resolution and 
desperation of his character whenever its peculiarities were 
excited, more especially when its political depths were 
stirred. All this was reserved for later discovery. 

When a large section of the cake had been divided, by 
the high priest of the occasion, turning up as black an in- 
terior, beneath its snowy surface, as ever did Illinois mould 
to the furrow of the plough, and lying temptingly afterwards 
in its fruity richness in the silver basket, which Jura sol- 
emnly tendered for its reception, preparatory to handing it 
around the table, as a sort of transubstantiation article of 
faith ; Colonel Lavigne called on every guest to fill a 
bumper for the toast he was about to oiler. 

There was profound silence, while King was engaged in 
handing around the various wines in requisition for the 
pledge, until after every glass was filled. Then simulta- 
neously, as in a church, and with a slight rustling of silken 
garments, the whole company rose to its feet, following the 
example of Colonel Lavigne, who with extended glass and 
uplilted, fervent face, as if about to oiler prayer to the 
Most High, and in accents so clear and sonorous as to be 
highly impressive, pledged, — 

“John C. Calhoun, as man, patriot, statesman — noblest, 
wisest, best ! ” 

I was lifting my glass mechanically to my lips with the 
rest, when my eye was arrested by the stern and even 
stony expression of Captain Wentworth’s face. He stood 
with his hand pressed firmly over the mouth of his level 
glass, the Calhoun Cake lying untouched on his plate, his 
eyes directed coldly forward on space, his whole appear- 
ance frozen and abstracted. Vernon and Gregory, I learned 
later, had followed his example, and involuntarily I put 
down my own glass untasted, more from amazement than 
any wish to imitate what I did not comprehend. 

A moment later, the meaning of this mute by-play flashed 
suddenly over my mind. It was treasonable to drink that 
toast, in the eyes of all but partisans, and legitimate to 
refuse it. Nor was it to be expected that loyal thinkers 
should be swept in and merged in local opinions, merely 
because of accidental minority. 


206 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


On these grounds I was glad that I had forborne to join in 
the pledge ; and yet, I felt equally desirous that no offence 
might be given or taken by such a course, certainly enforced 
by the conduct of Colonel Lavigne himself, who, as host, 
should have considered the feelings of every one present, 
individually. 

Allegiance, instinctive and strong, I had indeed felt from 
the first, to the South, such as seemed to have arisen from 
some former, forgotten life-stream, imbibed perhaps from 
her own breast. Such at least was the suggestion of fancy, 
though in sober reality I found that I could offer no better 
reason than temperament, which made it no difficult matter 
for me to embrace readily her habits and institutions. This 
new phase of feeling I had not anticipated, however ; nor 
indeed until that day, had I given the recent political ques- 
tion that had agitated our land, much consideration. 

I saw from that moment, as with a prophetic glance, what 
I still believe to be inevitable, future dissension, if not dire- 
ful dissolution. I saw, too, that as a patriotic citizen of the 
United States, no man or woman could conscientiously 
confirm the sectional sentiments prevailing in the region in 
which I then found myself. To do this, was to encourage 
family dissensions, already at work in the body politic. It 
was to prefer courtesy to principle. 

After the Calhoun toast had been drank with enthusiasm, 
a few others were proposed, in all of which Captain Went- 
worth and his aides joined heartily. But I chose to leave 
my wine untasted on each occasion, though probably unob- 
served in every succeeding demonstration, as I hoped the 
first had been. 

“ Our Navy ” — “ Our Engineering Corps ” — “ Our 
Corps Diplomatic , ” were all pledged in succession ; and, 
finally as we rose to leave the table, “ The Ladies, God bless 
them ! ” was offered by Major Favrand, and drank with 
enthusiasm, by the gentlemen, standing. 

It was not long, however, before most of them followed 
us to the drawing-room, where Miss Lurlie was already 
wailing in the most approved operatic and mermaidish 
fashion, accompanied by her Count, who in accordance with 
the habits of his country, rose from table with the ladies, 
and who sang like a cultivated — tree-frog, there being 
neither variety nor melody in his monotonous chanting. His 
attitude on such occasions was, however, both imposing 
and conventional. He stood with his chapeau bras, pressed 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


207 


tightly to his shirt bosom, with one open jewelled hand ; 
his head thrown back — his eyes half closed — his mouth 
distorted by an agonizing smile, supporting himself with his 
disengaged hand, on the piano or the back of a chair — his 
whole position suggestive of gargling for a sore throat, 
under almost insuperable difficulties. 

After this melodramatic exhibition was over, simpler 
music succeeded. “ Alice Grey,” The Miller’s Daughter,” 
“ Kelvin Grove,” “Here’s a health to thee Mary,” (Barry 
Cornwall’s exquisite song) then in vogue. Praed’s thrilling 
“ Tell him I love him yet,” Mrs. Hemans’s then popular 
“ O’er the dark blue Ocean,” and “ Oh, cast that shadow 
from thy brow,” with its grand Beethoven symphony, were 
each and all called for and approved. I was singing the 
last, when Captain Wentworth approached the piano, and 
stood silently listening until the conclusion of that passion- 
ate appeal, or song, if such indeed it be ; and the few words 
he uttered were significant of approval and comparison both, 
though terse and cool. 

“ What surpasses Beethoven ? What equals the vernac- 
ular ? ” adding after a pause, “Well done, Miss Harz,” 
with a significance of eye and accent that gave me room 
to suspect that his commendation reached over and be- 
yond my music and embraced my “ masterly inactivity ” on 
the occasion of the toast, a quality it may be remembered, he 
once disputed the existence of in women. 

“ One song more if you please, before you rise, one that 
you rarely sing, something for me to remember as belonging 
to you exclusively.” He spoke in low, intense tones. He 
bent above me with an expression that commanded me, and 
almost unconsciously an old Spanish air, that I had long 
ceased to sing, arose to my lips, linked with a few care- 
less verses, that had come to me, I scarce knew whence 
or how. The words are little worth, without the melody, 
to which they were singularly suited ; yet I give them as 
they stand, and leave the air to the musical imagination of 
my reader. 


“ Gaze not on me with those eyes dark and tender, 
Lift from mine aspect their sorrowful splendor 
Between us are lying a grave and a shrine, 

Entreat me not, love, with that deep glance of thine I 


«* Coldly I move where the festal is gleaming, 

Walking apart like a sleeper in dreaming, 

Bouse me not yet, from that vision diviue, 

Upbraid me not, love, with that sad glance of thine! 


208 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


“ Well have I loved thee and long have I striven — 

To the heart’s sources the arrow is driven, 

Yet to the last — give the cold world no sign, 

Betray me not, love, with that dark glance of thine 1 ” 

“ Beautiful ! ” said Major Favrand, applauding noiselessly 
with a paper-cutter and feather fan ; “ Strange 1 never heard 
that before, with all that I do hear in that line ! 1 believe 

you improvised it, Miss Harz.” 

“ No, no indeed ! I did no such thing ; I would not have 
you think so.” I felt myself flushing and growing confused, 
and Major Favrand might have turned away much flattered, 
had not his attention been distracted at the very nick of 
time, by a summons from Madge across the room, who 
wanted to consult him about getting up a charade. 

“ And equally strange that I, who hear so little in that 
line should have somewhere in the dim kingdom of the long 
ago, heard that air,” said Captain Wentworth, musingly. 
“ But the words, the mere words are yours, I am sure of it. 
Tell me about that song.” 

“ The air was one 1 had often heard my poor mamma sing 
— I never had the music. The words came of their own 
accord I believe. There, that is all I know about that song. 
Are you satisfied ? ” 

“ You are a poet then ? ” 

“ Oh ! no, the merest rhymer.” 

“ A passionate one at least. Those words seemed heart- 
felt.” 

“ Scarcely,” I smiled, “ unless indeed the imagination may 
be said to have a heart of its own as well as the affections. A 
kind of brain heart. Do you understand that ? ” 

“ Not clearly; I, you know am a very practical person, 
not up to clairvoyance, but really fond of poetry in my 
way. Show me some of yours, won't you ? ” 

“ Yes, if you desire ; I make no mystery of anything I do 
in that line ; but if you expect to be entertained or inter- 
ested, you will be much disappointed.” 

“ When shall I see your poems ? ” 

“ I will give you one within a few days, that occurs to 
me at this moment, as bearing singularly on that first con- 
versation of ours in the library. Yet it was written months 
ago. It is a mere allegory.” 

“ Dealing in generalities then. You keep me standing in 
the vestibule, while you affect confidence.” 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


209 


"Have I not told you I made no mystery of my petty 
gift ? It is no more I assure you, and 1 shall have a very 
poor opinion of your taste, if you admire anything I have 
written.’ ’ 

" My vanity condemns me to be censorious in that case. 
Now that is hard ! ” 

"No, I will not brook censure, nor discussion of any 
kind ; so that if I give you my poem it is to be a sealed 
book between us, forevermore.” 

" To hear is to obey ; but you know you reduce me to 
mere cipherage by such a sentence. You have already 
pronounced me critical or nothing.” 

" Ah ! it is better to be nothing than critical sometimes. 
But I must leave you ; I have an engagement with Madame 
Favrand. She wants to hear me talk, she says — how flat- 
tering ! That is what purchasers always say about parrots, 
before they buy them, j r ou know.” 

"The Major has been describing you, no doubt, in his 
enthusiastic way. But I will not detain you from that en- 
chanting woman longer.” 

He withdrew quietly, and a few moments later I found 
myself near Madame Favrand. I was charmed by the grace 
and sweetness of her manners, and the chosen beauty of 
her expressions. Her thoughts did indeed seem pearls, 
strung on a golden thread. Refinement was visible in every 
movement, every act, and there was a deprecating sadness 
in her whole air that affected me very painfully, in addition 
to what I knew of her ill-starred destiny. 

Ill health had beatified, while it undermined her beauty. 
Her brow and cheeks were sunken and sallow, but clear as 
wax ; and the blue veins on temples and throat and chin were 
as distinct as if traced externally. She had the indestructi- 
ble beauty of feature, however, even in that premature decay, 
which had dimmed her eye and traced white lines in her 
smooth, dark hair, and tinged her once exquisite teeth with 
a faint blueness, like pearls that have been too often washed 
in fresh water. Patient suffering was traced in every line 
of her face, in every tone of her low, sweet voice, in every 
movement of her shadowy hands. 

She was the embodiment of gentleness and the guardian 
angel of her husband, who, but for her restraining influence, 
would no doubt have plunged into the sea of dissipation. 

Even then, he was meditating for that tender being, » 
13 


210 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


blow as useless as it was cruel. She who was like a flower 
that one rude shock might crush, and on whose brow ap- 
proaching doom was written so clearly, that one that ran, 
might read. But so far his threatened blow was mercifully 
concealed from her. 

It was while we sat together, that Major Favrand, as the 
result of an hour’s scribbling at the centre-table, brought to 
us, the conversational items I have elsewhere recorded — 
indeed, nothing but the remonstrances of his wife, prevented 
his handing them about the room for general inspection, so 
careless was he of consequences. 

“ It is his way, Miss Harz,” she complained ; “ he cari- 
catures everything. And yet how can one help being 
amused ? wrong as it is to laugh at one’s friends and neigh- 
bors.” And she glanced at him admiringly. 

He took her small, frail hand and pressed it to his lips, 
bending low to reach it. 

“ All are not like you,” he said, “ my peerless pearl, you 
who respect the feelings of the meanest, and step aside to 
let the worm crawl by securely.” 

“Oh, Victor 1 ” drawing her hand away gently, “what 
will Miss Harz think of us ? Such old married people too. 
She will laugh at such follies. She cannot keep pace with 
your impulses, being a stranger.” 

“ Miss Harz is an honest-hearted woman, though she has 
the good fortune to be young and attractive, and can make 
allowances for earnest affection even if it has its inconven- 
ient and egotistical tides. The truth is, Celia, I am despond- 
ent to-night for all my folly. Cowper wrote ‘John Gilpin/ 
you know, in a fit of the blackest blues.” 

She shook her head mournfully. 

“You must not be thinking of that always, my dear, dear 
love. The expiation has been so perfect ; ” I heard her 
say in her low silvery accents. “ Miss Harz, you cannot 
think what a tender conscience Victor has. He ought to be 
a Catholic.” 

“ What, with Hugueuot blood in my veins, Celia ! You 
dream, my love.” 

He spoke a little sternly I thought, with averted face. 

“ Ah ! true, true, I had forgotten. I always do about 
that. But it seems to me a very comforting religion. Don’t 
you think so, Miss Harz ? ” 

“ Indeed I do. And yet I would not choose to be a 


MIRIAM 1 S MEMOIRS. 


211 


Catholic. I love my liberty too well. I fear I am not very 
religiously inclined, though I try very hard to love God 
and do right. But one fails sadly unaided.” 

“ Yes, truly, without the support of a Higher Power, our 
own resolutions would most often come to nought. Christ 
is a pillar of strength to the weak and disconsolate,” and 
she sighed deeply, smiling the next moment. 

All at once Major Favrand started to his feet, throwing 
aside, as if it were a mantle he dropped behind him by un- 
doing the clasps, the deep gloom that had oppressed him so 
visibly during the last half hour. 

“The charade is commencing, as I live! ” he exclaimed, 
“ and I am not ready for my part of the performance. They 
have rigged it up in the library I believe. Follow the 
stream, ladies, if you wish to see me as a " High priest of 
Venus/ my specialty some say ; Au revoir and kissing the 
tips of his fingers lightly, and for the nonce forgetting his 
military carriage, Major Favrand literally bounded away. 

“ You see how mercurial Victor is, Miss Harz. But let 
us go ; I suppose it will be a pretty sight.” And we pro- 
ceeded together to the theatre of action. 

The library, a large room, had been divided by a green 
baize curtain and there were seats for a goodly audience. 
We had not long to wait for the first scene and syllable 
of the charade, heralded as such by Mr. Gregory, the 
prompter, disguised in an Oriental costume, as far at least, 
as such marked individuality as he possessed, could be 
travestied. 


THE FIRST SCENE 

represented a group of young girls dressed in the Greek 
costume, bearing wreaths of myrtle, which each one held 
high above her head, so as to present it fully to the audience, 
while they stood linked in a circle significant of the syl- 
lable that commenced the words. 

MUSIC. 

“ 0 ! where’s the slave so lowly.” 

Curtain falls. 

SCENE SECOND 

heralded by Mr. Gregory, or the prompter, as an interlude 


212 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


expressive of what was to follow, not of a syllable at all, 
yet important to the sense of the charade. 

MUSIC. 

“ I’ll watch for thee from my lonely bower.” 

A lonely chamber is represented, in which a taper burns 
low, beside a couch draped in white. A figure of Cupid 
fills a niche above it, and a girl dressed in the robes of a 
priestess, and crowned with myrtle and roses, while she 
holds a nestling dove to her bosom, stands beside it in a 
graceful attitude, eager, watchful, expectant. 

Beautiful indeed, with her long, white, floating drapery 
and veil, and pale and perfect face seemed Marion. Sud- 
denly the roaring of the storm is heard without. She starts, 
approaches the long window (giving on the gallery, be it 
remembered, but supposed to overlook the ocean), loosens 
her dove (a tame, white pigeon very glad to escape), then 
wildly clasping her hands, rushes after it into the outer 
darkness. 

Curtain falls . 

SCENE THIRD 

announced by the prompter as “ containing three syllables, 
and all the gist of the performance. ” 

MUSIC. 

“Farewell, farewell to thee, Araby’s daughter,” 

and the song of Ariel, in three voices, slightly altered for 
the occasion. 


“ Full fathom five thy lover lies.” 

SCENE THIRD 

Same apartment ; the figure of a young man is seen lying 
on the white couch surrounded by veiled figures, plunged 
in grief. A winding sheet covers his insensible form, re- 
vealing alone his head, with his dripping hair, bare feet and 
arms, the last hanging loosely to the floor. We recognize 
the delicate and heroic features of Mr. Vernon who plays 
the part of “ drowned, drowned,” to perfection. 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


213 


Suddenly the priestess returns bearing a cresset in her 
hand, and shading her eyes as if emerging from storm and 
darkness. She enters through the window, dishevelled, 
haggard, agonized — her wreath and veil partly torn away 
— her hair hanging about her shoulders. She approaches 
the couch wildly, staggers back, drops the lamp she holds 
(which gives forth a faint perfume in dying, like burning 
sandal-wood), raises her hands to heaven, then falls forward 
fainting at the foot of the couch. 

MUSIC. 

Curtain falls. 

“ The dead march in Saul.” 


SCENE FOURTH [the end]. 

A solemn procession of veiled virgins, bearing a bier, 
covered with white and preceded by the High Priest of 
Venus (whom we recognize at a glance as Major Favrand), 
bearing an oleander branch, which he waves solemnly above 
the dead. He then pauses and in most expressive panto- 
mime explains to the spectators, the manner in which the 
youthful couple met their fate. The one by the overwhelm- 
ing billows, the other by leaping into the sea from her 
tower. After which, again flourishing his branch, he sig- 
nifies the word. 

OLEANDER. 

It was a very ingenious little affair, certainly, and as an 
impromptu matter did credit to the versatile genius of 
Major Favrand. The performance wound up with the 
laughable farce of the spoken charade “ Pilgrim, ” for which 
we have neither room nor memory, written by Mr. Greg- 
ory, and in which he performed a principal character, that 
of the “ Pilgrim/ ’ himself, returning from his journey to 
Loretto with boiled peas in his shoes. The suggestion will 
be found in the poems of Wolcott, in his day surnamed 
“ Peter Pindar/’ 

Here ends the account of the New Year’s festivities at 
Beauseincourt. Here also endeth our farce, and now be- 
ginneth our tragedy. 





BOOK FOURTH. 


M The feast was o’er at Branksome tower, 
And the lady had gone to her secret bower, 
Jesu Maria, shield us well.” 


Scott. 


“ I am a murderer I 

That hideous name befits me. I have sent him 
To his dread debit, l’ho ! his blood will redden 
Upon my hand forever — wretch that I am.” 

Wilson’s City of the Plague. 

“ Sleep, sleep ; forget thy pain, 

My hand is on thy brow, 

My spirit on thy brain, 

My pity on thy heart, poor friend, 

And from my fingers flow 
The powers of life, and like a sign, 

Seal thee from thine hour of woe 
And brood on thee, but may not blend with thine.” 

Shelley’s Magnetic Lady. 

44 Fate hath no voice but the heart’s impulses; 

I am all his; his present; his alone. 

In this new life that lives in me, he hath 
A right to his own creature. What was I, 

Ere his fair love iufused a soul in me ? ” 

Schiller’s Thekla. 

44 And who feels discord now, or sorrow ? 

Love is the universe to-day ; 

These are the slaves of dim to-morrow 
Darkening life’s labyrinthine way.” 

Shelley’s Fragments. 


BOOK FOURTH 


i. 


CHAPTER XII. 



incursion of the Gauls and Vandals, as Bertie 
called them, was over at Beauseincourt for the time 
being, and matters settled down again into their 
pristine condition of monotonous regularity. Mr. 
Maginnis had borne away in his gig, as on a tri- 
umphal car, the master of the festivities, suddenly 
summoned (and it may have been through this sub- 
stantial guest himself) to New Orleans on imperative business 
with his merchants, as Madame Lavigne surmised. 

“ This is but the beginning of the end, Miriam, ” she had 
said to me sadly. “ No man was ever more unfit to contend 
with financial harassments than my husband. And there 
was that look in his eyes I never like to see, when he went 
away with that bloodsucker, the man whose advances to him 
have already so deeply involved Beauseincourt ; that crafty, 
detestable Scotchman ! Heaven forgive me ! I grudged 
every mouthful of food Maginnis ate at my table, every breath 
he drew in my house. His presence made this whole cele- 
bration bitter and painful to me. He is a bachelor, you 
know, and he actually had the audacity — it is almost too 
mortifying to tell” — she added, hesitating and flushing, 
while she clasped her hands nervously — don’t ever allude 
to it again Miriam, but he absolutely had the audacious pre- 
sumption to propose for Marion ! There, what do you think 
of that ! and the worst of it is, that Colonel Lavigne laughed 
the matter off. I wanted him to resent- it on the spot, to 
order him away, as he should have done — would have done, 
perhaps, but for those dreadful obligations.” 

( 217 ) 


218 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


“ I cannot conceive that advances of money made on 
interest and mortgage can be construed as obligations,’ ’ I 
replied, “ and it w ould scarcely have been just to treat the 
offer of Mr. Maginnis, absurd as it may appear, in the light 
of an insult.” 

“ That is your Northern coolness,” she remarked dryly ; 
“ but we Southerners have very different ideas on the subject. 
Who is this Mr. Maginnis, that he dared aspire to the hand 
of a Lavigne ? ” and her usually mild features were set in 
scorn. “ A mere nobody, of common foreign parentage, no 
doubt, and who has never seen the interior of a college in 
his life. A creature reared to trade ! Rich, certainly, but 
no more, and evidently trying to take advantage of our 
necessities, in daring to propose such an alliance ! such an 
alternative perhaps ! One I shudder but to think of embrac- 
ing.” 

“ Has Marion been told of it ? ” I asked. 

“ No, and I hope she never may be. She would be 
excessively mortified at such a communication. Marion is 
very proud, though diffident.” 

“ They are frequent companions,” I observed, musingly. 

“ I really thought Miriam,” she pursued, “ that it was you 
Maginnis was smitten with, until he came out bluntly and 
broadly to Colonel Lavigne the day before they left Beausein- 
court.” 

“ That would have seemed more suitable in your eyes,” 
I said, smiling as I spoke, for I thought it natural she should 
think so. 

“ Not at all,” she answered, with evident embarrassment ; 
“ Mr. Maginnis is too old and commonplace entirely, to suit 
any young girl. But his great wealth might bear him 
through under some conditions. I do not know your views 
on this subject, Miriam,” hesitating. “ It is, even more 
than his age and homeliness, his obscurity and want of 
breeding, that we object to.” 

“ What would you think of Mr. Vernon for Marion ? 
Madame Lavigne,” I digressed. “He is well-bred, cer- 
tainly ! ” 

“ What, that penniless adventurer? ” she queried sharply 
in return, and evidently much disconcerted. “You cannot 
think there is any fancy in that direction ! Mr. Duganne is 
the person she prefers of all others, I am certain. They 
have been friends since 8he was a child and he a young col- 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


219 


•ege student ; and he has Huguenot blood in his veins as 
good as her own. He is not very rich, it is true, but well 
off, and a perfect gentleman.” 

“ He struck me as rather a dissipated-looking young man,” 
I observed quietly, “ and he certainly is somewhat unprepos- 
sessing in his appearance. Arrogant too, in his manners. 
Now Mr. Vernon is temperate and amiable, one sees at a 
glance, courteous, accomplished and unusually good-looking ; 
and I frankly confess to you, I think he is falling desperately 
in love with Marion. So if you have any objections to 
reciprocity on her part, you had better be on your guard at 
once.” 

“ He leaves here in a day or two,” she said sententiously, 
after consideration. “ I shall take care that he comes no 
more. In the meantime I shall trust to my daughter’s good 
sense and fidelity to her old attachment. We have always 
looked on that marriage as a settled thing on both sides. 
Alfred Duganne’s mother is a widow, and he will continue 
to manage her estate and live at ‘ Bosworth ’ even after his 
marriage. His is a very responsible position.” 

“Fore-warned — fore-armed 1 ” I had done my duty, and 
it was not for me to press this matter farther ; that was not 
my concern. But I felt from the beginning that Alfred 
Dug’anne stood small chance against Charles Vernon, should 
the latter choose to prefer his suit to the already evidently 
favorably impressed Marion. 

“ I suppose Mr. Wentworth and his train, are all Northern 
men ; ” she added after a pause, “though the Captain him- 
self seems very gentlemanly, and looks even aristocratic ! ” 

“ He is a Virginian, I discovered some time ago, which 
may account for this,” I rejoined, smiling at her simplicity, 
“ and of good family. No doubt you knew the Earl of 
Strafford’s family name was Wentworth 1 ” A careless 
remark, intended to tell, however, as it did. 

“ Ah ! I did not know, or had forgotten the fact. The 
Earl of Strafford I Ah 1 yes, I remember now, the man 
whose head Charles the First suffered to be cut off. But 
what for, I forget ? something very wicked no doubt, since 
our martyr king (she was a High Church Episcopalian) was 
always in the right. But I am getting very rusty in my 
history. I must read up a little, or my own children will 
put ine to shame soon, under your tuition.” 

“Mr. Gregory is from Maryland,” I resumed, but Mr. 


220 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


Vernon is a native of the extreme North, not a Laplander 
however, as Bertie calls him. He is from Bangor, Maine, 
and a graduate of a New England University of some repute 
— no other than Yale. He spent several years abroad with 
Captain Wentworth, but Gregory is a new addition to the 
staff, a stranger to both. He is a very pleasant, bright 
fellow by the way, though Bertie says he looks like a 
* Japanese Damio ; or her idea of one. But nothing to com- 
pare with Vernon, either as to looks or manner.” 

** Oh, Maryland against Maine, any day, of course Miriam ! 
Now the Middle States are all very well in their way. But 
those extreme Northern settlements are my absolute aver- 
sion — I myself, think them little better than Esquimaux ! 
I never saw a Yankee yet that I could abide ; ” with a 
slight shudder. 

It was all over with Vernon now in that quarter it was 
plain. He ranked very little above Maginnis henceforth, in 
the estimation of the mistress of Beauseincourt. But I 
thought it best for Marion’s happiness that everything should 
be laid open at once and before her feelings were at stake or 
compromised too deeply to be withdrawn. As to poor Ver- 
non, his was a case of love at first sight undisguisedly, an<* 
like all other eruptive diseases, this has its limit, when no' 
made chronic by sympathy, and cures itself naturally througt 
the absence and indifference, one or both, of its object. 1 
felt that the cautery had better be applied at once to the 
wound, however occasioned, by the cutting off of his budding 
hopes, (to continue as well as change my medical metaphor,) 
in justice and in mercy both. But my own sympathies were, 
confessedly, all on his side. 

To vegetate on a Southern plantation, and year by year 
feel the shackles of prejudice and circumstance more closely 
confirmed by necessity, did not seem to me the most desir- 
able of conditions “ noblesse oblige ” notwithstanding ; 
Marion was made for better things, it appeared to my mind, 
than to rust in apathy in a comfortable hermitage, ^,nd live 
in the shadow of mediocrity, self-conceit and dissipation. 
For me there was no prestige in the mere name of planter. 

The world was all before Charlie Vernon, with his energies, 
virtues and attainments, and in possession of an unfailing 
means of livelihood, if not of distinction. But Alfred Duganne 
might as well have been Robinson Crusoe or a Brahmin of 
caste for all the variety such an association promised ; nor 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS \ 


221 


was he the person exactly, one would have selected to per- 
form “ Suttee ” for, or as a companion for a life-long resi- 
dence on a desert island ! 

. Captain Wentworth lingered with his aides beyond the 
time he had appointed for his departure, nor did this de- 
lay tend to foster the vanity of any one at Beauseincourt, 
since he remained avowedly to suit his own convenience, 
and, after the departure of Colonel Lavigne, strictly isolated. 
Except at meals and on very rare occasions in the evening, 
he was much engaged in the library with pen, ink, and paper, 
in pursuance of his professional plans, as we supposed. 

It was remarked, however, as something singular, that 
Mr. de Bonville, whose abode was ten miles distant from 
Beauseincourt, and Mr. Duganne, who resided near him, 
came together early one morning, soon after the breaking 
up of the New Year’s party, from the direction of Bellevue 
and without asking for any of the ladies, were closeted above 
an hour in the library with Captain Wentworth, after which 
they departed as quietly as they came. 

It was at dinner-time that day, that the last mentioned 
gentleman, asked permission of Madame Lavigne to extend 
his stay at Beauseincourt for a few days, adding that busi- 
ness of an interesting and unexpected nature had arisen, to 
make it necessary for him to remain somewhat longer in the 
vicinity than he had at first intended doing. 

“ Were there a lodging house within reach,” he said, 
addressing Madame Lavigne, “ or were it worth while to 
ask you for the key of your son Walter’s cottage for so brief 
a period, which Colonel Lavigne obligingly offered to place 
at my disposition for the remainder of the season, and 
where with my servant’s aid and the assistance of our guns, 
we could all live very comfortably without troubling you so 
greatly — I would not trespass further on your generous 
hospitality, kindest of ladies. But I think when you learn 
what my business is, you will not consider me a capricious 
intruder; and when all is satisfactorily settled, I shall ap- 
prize you, <md depart,” adding cheerfully, a moment later, 
“ I fancy you will be astonished at the revelations that 
await you.” No further explanation was vouchsafed. But 
But I did not like his forced smile and gloomy eyes. 

“How do you know that we have not found a vein of 
gold on your estate, Madame Lavigne ? ” added Luke Greg- 
ory archly, helping himself to gravy as he spoke. 


222 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


“ Or a scorpion’s nest ? ” said Vernon, grimly, glancing 
at the last speaker askance. 

“ Ah, gentlemen ! it is much more probably the last, 
than the first,” said Madame Lavigne, plaintively. “ Our 
luck has never been to strike a golden vein yet ; but how- 
ever it may be, rest assured that you are perfectly welcome 
to such shelter as Beauseincourt affords, as long as you 
choose to share it. And do not think me so inquisitive as 
to wish to pry into affairs that in no way concern me, I beg 
of you.” 

Captain Wentworth replied only by an expressive bow ; 
but Gregory ran on in his usual flippant and fluent strain. 

“Now that hint about gold is not so fabulous as you 
might suppose. I have had advices that such streaks do 
exist not very far from here. And a tract of land belong- 
ing to infant heirs in Pennsylvania, lying in this vicinity, 
which is top poor to bring black-eyed peas, is whispered to 
be the burial place of King Midas himself 1 I am to have a 
noble commission if I identify this fact to the satisfaction 
of Mr. Bainrothe, the guardian of the heir or heirs con- 
cerned, before next summer. By the way, is it not rather 
strange to limit a man absolutely as to time in this way ? 
What can his motive be ? The whole business rests on this 
contingency. What do you think of it, Wentworth ? ” 

The sound of my guardian’s name so suddenly and un- 
expectedly spoken, paralyzed me for a moment. But the 
vague question, to which no one could give a satisfactory 
reply, might have been readily answered, had I chosen to 
take up the clue of enquiry and reply to it succinctly. My 
majority would occur in the coming September, and his un- 
doubted object was to grasp the golden treasure of minors 
and Midas as well, if possible (as he had done all the rest), 
before that event. 

“We will enquire into this matter more closely hereafter,” 
said Captain Wentworth, “if time be afforded us. But 
Gregory ! never lend yourself to the injury of infant heirs — 
to which this measure seems to point ! This guardian may 
be armed with power to sell, or to appropriate the proceeds 
of the estate up to a certain time. Whose was it, 
Gregory ? ” 

“ The name escapes me, but I have it somewhere among 
my papers. Not here, however. The tract of land has 
been very exactly described to me. It is one known as the 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


223 


* Calvert Clearing/ and can readily be identified, I doubt 
not, chart in hand, when I have time to investigate matters. 
The Cohoot river runs through it, and it is laid open liter- 
ally, I am told, by bayous, like a German student’s face 
with gashes and gaping wounds. It was given in payment 
of a bad debt, by the bank of Pennsylvania, or rather the 
president of that bank in a sudden fit of romantic compensa- 
tory generosity, for it seems that this estate, like a thousand 
others, sustained shipwreck when that brillant bubble broke, 
and the difference was, that the owner thereof had been the 
personal friend of the conscientious banker. 

“ All this Bainrothe told me in his own very agreeable and 
off-hand way. I saw him in Washington, just before he 
went to Paris, where he is now sojourning, I believe. At 
least he said any letters addressed to the care of Robert 
Walch, our Consul there, would reach him with certainty 
and promptness. His son was about to marry a beautiful 
English lady of rank, when we parted, an earl’s daughter, 
I think he told me, and he himself was going abroad, he 
declared, to take the first recreation of his industrious life- 
time.” 

“ And the infant heirs, what of them ? ” Captain Went- 
worth asked persistently. 

“ The heir, or heiress or heirs, I do not know which, were 
not spoken of further than to acknowledge the existence of 
such a being or beings. Of course it was not my business 
to enquire about him, or her or them. I am a mere agent, 
you know, for the transaction of certain affairs for their 
benefit rubbing his hands cheerfully. 

“ For their benefit I hope ; but this limitation of time is 
very singular, Gregory ! I would wager my right hand, 
although I know nothing of Mr. Bainrothe, that one of them 
comes of age at the period of the expiration of that limit 
which is made conditional with you. What commission 
was proposed ? ” 

“ The whole of the first year’s proceeds,” was the prompt 
reply, 11 or its equivalent, whether the land was sold or re- 
mained unsold. There is no doubt at all in the mind of Mr. 
Bainrothe that the place is rich in gold from what he has 
heard, but he wanted certainty, and did me the honor to 
consider me both sagacious and responsible enough to be 
entrusted with the prosecution of the affair.” 

“ He could not have selected better,” observed Captain 


224 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


Wentworth, a little dryly I thought, and the discussion was 
dropped as suddenly as it had been taken up, being a 
matter of particular interest to no one present as far as it 
appeared on the surface. 

“ I wish you would keep Marion as much engaged as 
possible in the schoolroom, my dear Miriam,” said Madame 
Lavigne to me. “ Could you not continue some extra task 
to keep her out of this Vernon’s way ? ” 

“ Not with justice to her or myself either,” I replied 
seriously. “ I am perfectly willing that she should know 
what I have said to you, if you think it for the best to tell 
her. But I cannot circumvent her. This does not belong 
either to my inclination or ability. You, as her mother, must 
take the entire management of her time after school hours. 
She is my friend now ; I will not make her my enemy hence- 
forth, even to obey you, who are so kind to me and whom I 
both love and honor ; but if you would like me to talk to her 
plainly about the matter I will do so, and this would be the 
best way to proceed, 1 fancy.” The answer came impetu- 
ously, — 

“ No, no ! not for worlds ! You do not know the Lavigne 
nature surely, or you would not propose such a measure. 
It is very unapproachable on all subjects of delicacy, open 
as it seems.” 

“ There is nothing very serious so far,” I remarked, “ on 
her side at least, I am certain. Be present at their inter- 
views. This is all that is required ; that is, if you do 
seriously object to Mr. Vernon’s attentions.” 

“Object! of course I do! What do we know of Mr. 
Vernon ? What can we know ? ” 

“ His endorser is with him,” I alleged confident^. 
“ Captain Wentworth has known him from boyhood, and 
approves of him in every way. Besides, that face of his 
speaks volumes ! eloquent as it is with truth, feeling, 
fancy.” 

“ But Captain Wentworth himself is a stranger, though 
recommended by our dear son. Walter is but a boy — he 
is governed by his feelings, too, altogether. I have investi- 
gated their acquaintance and find that it began at Odessa 
and ran its course on shipboard. No, no Miriam Harz ! 
when my daughters marry it must be with those we know 
— whose families we have long known.” 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


225 


“ And known perhaps hut little good of,” I could not 
help murmuring in rejoinder. Though wrapt in anxious 
reverie, she either heard or heeded not my remark, and so 
we parted in silence a few moments later. 

Gazing out from that high dormer window, my own pecu- 
liar watch-tower, which commanded so fine a view of the 
surrounding country, and from which Colonel Lavigne had 
first directed my attention to Bellevue, I saw, one dusky 
December evening, two gentlemen practising at a mark with 
pistols in the grounds of our neighbor, and by the aid of my 
lorgnette, which 1 found a valuable assistant to my view in 
the absence of the field-glass, when it suited me to gaze out 
and away, and lose sight for awhile of the narrow precincts 
of the schoolroom, I distinguished the forms of Mr. de Bon- 
ville and Major Favrand as those of the marksmen. 

A more innocent way of passing time, which, in the esti- 
mation of such men, seems only intended for killing, could 
scarcely have been devised it seemed to me, nor yet a more 
entirely selfish and useless one. 11 Why cannot they come 
to Beauseincourt and enliven us a little, instead of peppering 
an insensible target? ” 1 thought, recalling the promise of 
Major Favrand to pass an evening with us before very long, 
(yet unfulfilled), and remembering with pleasure and with 
amusement many of his odd sayings and saucy ways, the 
fun of which would scarcely seem transmissible to my reader, 
who no doubt agrees with Rosalind that 11 a jest’s prosperity 
lies in the ear of him that hears it.” 

It had indeed been rather dull at Beauseincourt, since the 
dispersion of the New Year’s party. Colonel Lavigne’s 
only partially explained absence seemed to weigh heavily on 
the spirits of his wife. The gentlemen who still remained 
with us were grave, and, as I have said, self-absorbed of late 
as a general thing, and Marion and Madge seemed unusually 
silent and distraites. As for Bertie, she had a periodical fit 
of the dumps, in unison with the weather, which was again 
bleak, raw, and rainy, almost verifying the descriptions of 
Madge. Had it not have been for Laura and Louey, who 
seemed to revive like flowers bent down by heavy showers, 
after the ponderous weight of the imported element of social 
enjoyment was withdrawn, there would scarcely have been 
a gleam of sunshine at Beauseincourt to break the intolerable 
gloom. For again the cloud of nameless and vague 
discontent and depression enveloped my nature and kept me 
>14 


226 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


apart from all surrounding influences, grave or gay. An 
ominous mood indeed, this seemed at last ! One which I 
vainly strove against, prophetic as it was perhaps ! One that 
I have never since disregarded. 

I was aroused about sunrise one morning, or rather at 
that hour near which according to the asssertions of alma- 
nacs, the sun was due in the latitude of “ Lesdernier,” by 
the vehement panting without, and bumping against that 
door of my chamber giving on the gallery, of the great New- 
foundland dog “ Ossian,” with which worthy quadruped 
my reader is already slightly acquainted. Finding him sin- 
gularly and annoyingty pertinacious in his efforts to obtain 
admission, I rose at last from my pillow, without disturbing 
Bertie, who was sleeping with me on this occasion, and 
opened the door ajar, with the view of driving him back, 
and rebuking him for his untimely visit. He managed how- 
ever to thrust his nose against my white night-dress, staining 
it to my horror with blood ; and seizing it a moment later by 
the hem, between his teeth, he tried to draw me after him 
through the aperture. 1 closed the door instantly and firmly 
against him. At which rejection he set up a prolonged and 
piteous howl, wild as the night-wind, and dismal as an 
owlet’s hooting. Different was it from any sound I had 
ever before heard issue from the throat of a mournful dog ! 

“ What if he should be mad ? ” I thought, but the idea 
was dismissed about at soon as entertained. There evidently 
was “ method in his madness.” His teeth had not impressed 
themselves in gory marks in my dress, it was only his nose 
that was bloody, and he sat now patiently outside of the 
door, having exhausted his vocabulary of grief it seemed, 
occasionally slamming his massive tail up and down on the 
floor, and giving utterance to a long, whining yawn, as was 
his custom when weary of waiting at the schoolroom door 
for mine or Bertie’s egress. 

My resolution was taken at once. Something unusual 
had oocurred it was plain, or the dog would never have 
plucked at my garments in so urgent a manner ; and that 
bloody muzzle of his was horribly suggestive ! 

I threw on my dressing-gown, thrust my feet in my slip- 
pers, wound up my hair hastily and opening and closing the 
door softly and suddenly, to preclude his entrance, found 
myself at once received into the rapturous embrace of 
Ossian. After a moment spent in disentangling myself 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


227 


from his paws, at a signal from me, he bounded forward 
across the gallery and down the back staircase, looking 
back momentarily, to make sure of my company. Following 
him as fast as I could, I soon found myself in the servant’s 
premises. Sylphy was poised as I entered the pantry on a 
broom, listening with grave attention to some communica- 
tion that King with his left hand and arm thrust into a long 
and shapely boot, while his right wielded the blacking-brush 
with artistic dexterity, was making to her, while Sip, with 
a pair of shining Wellingtons dangling from his hands, was 
standing open-mouthed at the door of entrance, and Jura 
shaking his melancholy head over an astral lamp he was trim- 
ming and arranging, with a slow precision peculiar to his 
temperament and training. 

As quickly as ever the witch of Fife sped away on her 
broomstick, Sylphy vanished on perceiving me, and I soon 
heard her long, light strokes with the sweeping brush, 
resound from the neighboring gallery, where she was plying 
her diligent vocation, silently, for a wonder. For she was 
one of those born chatterboxes who talk even when alone, 
a custom unjustly assigned to persons of a higher race by 
some novelists ; but which I have never seen realized, except 
in the case of negroes and lunatics. Jura and King both 
acknowledged my presence however, by stopping their sev- 
eral employments and bowing according to their wont, the 
one profoundly, the other superciliously. 

The dog in the meantime was standing in grave majesty 
at the steps of the gallery with his tail and ears erect and 
his great, dark, eager eye fixed on my face ; the whole atti- 
tude one of impatient expectation, if not command. 

“ Jura,” I said, “ I have come down stairs in consequence 
of Ossian’s strange behavior to make some enquiries. He 
came to my door awhile since and thrust a bloody nose 
against my dress and begged me to accompany him, almost 
as plainly as if he had spoken in so many words. What 
can ail the dog ? ” 

“ Dunno, Miss Miriam!” interpolated King, officiously, 
plying his brush again with renewed vigor ; while J ura 
opened and shut his grave, responsible mouth several times, 
in a sort of fish-like dumbness, a gasping silence, very sug- 
gestive of restrained emotion and mystery. “ Dunno, in- 
deed! dat dog always was queer; more like human dan 
brute sort seems to me, in some ob his fashions ! I ’spec* 


228 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


he done killed a rabbit, or a a mink, mebbe — he, he, he! 
and tinks hissef great tings on dis ’casion like oder poor 
hunters. Dat dog eats more ’an a Christian any way, an’ 
don’t airn his vittles by de longest ! He’s de laziest ob all 
de dog tribe, 1 does belebe, and Masta dese days jes’ spiles 
dat creeter wus dan he ebber spilt Jumbo. I don tole him 
so more’n oncest. He don’t begin to be worf a good cur dog 
for catching wild varmints and making his own libelihood, 
he don’t dat ! ” with a knowing dip of the head. 

During this hastily delivered and somewhat irrelevant 
tirade evidently made to distract my attention and relieve 
Jura, the elder servant was snipping away pensively at the 
wick of a sperm-oil lamp, the bright appurtenances of which 
were spread around him on a tray, and shaking his head 
dolefully over the extinguished luminary. 

“ Jura, I spoke to you,” I said, gravely, “I insist upon 
an answer. King ! be silent,” seeing that flippant wight 
again about to take the initiative, “ take up your boots and 
go immediately to the gallery, sir; Sip, depart ; ” pointing 
to the door, sternly; “I wish to see Jura alone. Now, 
what is it, old man,” with clasped hands, “ speak plainly, 
fori see you have your suspicions ; ” and my whole manner 
changed to one of entreaty. 

“ De fact is, Miss Miriam, I doesn’t know what to do, 
nor whar to turn. I has been conjoined to silence by bof 
of de principal parties, an’ my feelins’ pulls me one way an’ 
my honorble duty, de oder. You mout be ob some use 
and den agin you moutn’t. I reckon I’d best be mum, on 
dis occasion ; women folk have got no call any way to tend 
on pistol shot wounds, ’specially wen de doctor’s nearby, 
wid all dc bandages and fixins, and plasters, and inster- 
ments, jes’ to his right hand ! Dar’s Aunt Felicity down 
wid de rheumatiz dis day, or she’d be after me, widout sub- 
sistence, I has no airthly doubt, to fine out every ting. But 
Doctor Durand, sez he to me, (dese was his last words, 
Miss Mirime), sez he to me, ‘ Jura,’ sez he, ‘ I knows your 
’sponsible caracter ; not a word to dem ladies ! Dey is to 
be kep in ’gyptian darkness, Jura ! like all women folk ought 
to be mos’ ob de time, an’ ” — 

“ For God’s sake, tell me what the matter is ! ” I inter- 
rupted him, passionately, “ do you mean to say that murder 
has been done and that Doctor Durand knows of it ? ” 

“I doesfi’t know what am de result yet, Miss Mirime,” 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


229 


rejoined the imperturbable old servant. “ Wen two gentle- 
men goes out to fight de 1 duello/ (dat is de name our 
quality gibs dat sort of warfare ob conflic’) why den, one 
orde oder am mos’ likely to be killed dead, sartin sure ! Dat 
is no more dan reasonable, an’ right, an’ honor’ble to ex- 
pec’ ; but as to murder , Miss Merriam, dat’s a berry differ- 
ent sort of affair, I takes it 1 ” shaking his head, distinctive- 
ly ; “ I’se surprised you’s neber has heard dat difference 
expounded before, in de Norf country.” 

“ No moralizing, Jura ! ” I exclaimed, coldly, desperately. 
“ Content yourself with facts ; speak to the point. Who 
have gone out to fight this duel ? When or where did it 
take place ? Answer me> old man, or I shall apprise 
Madame Lavigne, who will immediately question you more 
successfully than I can do, perhaps.” 

“ Oh, not for de world, Miss Merriam ! I’se sure you 
would not do dat,” he said, piteously. “ Mistis ailin’ too ! 
her self and so poorly, jes’ now I ” and in his anxiety he 
laid the fingers of one trembling hand upon my arm, in- 
stantly withdrawing them again, respectfully, “jes’ have a 
little patience, Miss Mirime, and hear me out.” 

“ No, I shall follow the dog. His feelings and instincts 
are more Christian, it seems, than yours. For if you knew of 
this duel, why are you not on the spot to render assistance ? 
Your duties here could be postponed in the cause of hu- 
manity.” 

“Oh, Miss Mirime, Major Fabrand.hab more darkies in 
call dan you can shake a stick at. An’ Mr. Vernon, an’ 
Mr. Gregory, an’ Captain Wentworth dev all dar wid dat 
Irish nigger ob deirs, what dey brought along to do dere 
waitin’ on. Wat call has I to go? Wen Doctor Durand 
says to me hissef, at daylight dis berry mornin’ ‘ Now, 
Jura,’ says he, ‘keep this thing quiet at the Bosincore 
house; an’ dem ladies ’specially, an’ all de female sort in 
’gyptian darkness about dis here “ duello.” All will be 
done right, Jura, but de feelin’s ob dem womenkind must 
be reserved, an’ I can obscure your attention by sendin’ 
Patrick after you, should it be found advisable so to do, late 
in de scene of action.’ ” 

• “ But the action is evidently over, Jura, and if only to 
know what has occurred, I must go, if, indeed, you will 
not,” pausing desperately. “ Do go, old man ! It is a 
state of such wretched uncertainty to be in, nor is it fit that 


230 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


I should go forward in this matter. For God’s sake go, 
and bring me word,” I implored passionately. 

At this moment Ossian bounded forward with a loud, de- 
fiant bark. I followed him to the gallery steps and peered 
out as into darkness, from under my protecting hand into 
the cold, dull fog that obstructed the vision beyond a few 
rods from the house, and hung like a leaden curtain over 
woods and fields. 

The tramp of steady feet was heard advancing, and as 
if dividing the hangings of a ghostly chamber, a strange 
and sad procession suddenly emerged from the dense, gray 
mist, which had concealed its approach hitherto, headed 
by Doctor Durand himself. 

“ Down, Ossian, down ! ” I heard him say hoarsely as the 
dog bounded forward. “A little faster, gentleman,” in 
low, stern accents, “time is important now. This way if 
you please.” 

The four men, followed by a fifth, who were supporting 
a hastily constructed litter, on which was lying a motion- 
less form, covered with a sweeping Spanish cloak, acceler- 
ated their even pace in accordance with this dignified direc- 
tion, and without lifting their eyes from the ground, came 
steadily on to the gallery, like the pall-bearers in a church, 
or the mourners in Glenara, and ascended its steps care- 
fuily. 

“ Bear him into the library, gentlemen, if you please,” 
said the doctor, saluting me slightly, and with constraint as 
he passed. “ Wheel forward the leather-covered couch, 
Jura. Girl,” to Sylphy, “ throw an old coverlet over it, as 
quickly as possible, and don’t alarm your mistress above all 
things. Miss Harz, I am sorry you have been disturbed so 
early. This is no place for you, I fear. Sustain Madame 
Lavigne, I entreat you, the shock may else overpower her ; 
and by all means keep the young ladies away. We are 
obliged to be here, owing to circumstances, else” — 

Without finishing his sentence, he turned and entered 
the library where a fire had already been kindled, above 
which he cowered a moment, while the four litter-bearers 
set down their helpless burden. In this position he contin- 
ued to direct them. 

“ A little more brandy, Mr. Vernon ; I shall be there 
presently, don’t move him yet. Patrick, help Jura with the 
couch. Mr. Duganne, you will have to cut away the boot 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


231 


with your knife, it is soaked, literally soaked with blood. 
Mr. Gregory, chafe his hands, if you please, with the campho- 
rated spirits. No, Miss Harz, you can do nothing” — 
stepping to the door of the gallery, to reply to my agonized 
offer of assistance. ** Absolutely nothing, unless you choose 
to scrape some more lint, mine is insufficient I see. Yes, it 
is a sad thing truly ! Mortal ? Oh, 1 cannot be certain yet. 
We shall see presently. Be firm my dear young lady ; it 
is one of those things one has to make up one’s mind to. 
But what made you think of Major Favrand in such connec- 
tion ? ” smiling and rubbing his hands self-gratulatingly. 
“ He is safe and sound at home, abiding the result, I am happy 
and proud to inform you. It is oiily Captain Wentworth 
who is wounded.” 

Good God ! and I thought I saw him coming after the rest ! 
Major Favrand ! oh ! what was he in comparison ? What 
despair.” Such was the cry of my heart, but I spoke no 
words to betray my sufferings. I clasped my hands in 
dumb agony and pressed them against my beating brow, 
suppressing the cries, the groans, that would fain have left 
my lips. In that instant of revelation, I saw by the light- 
ning flash of aroused emotion, the humiliating truth ! This 
acquaintance of ten days, was more to me than all the world, 
save Mabel ! Yes, I would cheerfully have given my own 
life that hour, I felt, to have saved that of this utter stranger. 

Up stairs again, and to work at the mechanical operation 
assigned to me, with what heart none can tell, save those 
who are obliged to conceal anxiety and forbear the presence 
of the sufferer in whom their interest is vital, in accordance 
with those laws that regulate that strange monster — society. 
I, so lonely, so desolate, so unloved, had caught too eagerly 
(I saw it then though never dreaming of the truth before) 
at the clue of hope that had been thrown down before me, 
at the ray of sunshine that had glanced across my path 
— vanished again into thickest gloom forever 1 

What was this man to me, that I should stake all hopes 
of happiness upon his life ? What business of mine was it 
beyond mere humanity common to all, whether he lived or 
died ? He, the acquaintance of a fortnight, not even a 
friend, far less an avowed lover. It was madness. I saw 
it now, too late ! too late perhaps for my eternal peace 1 

Such were my thoughts as I sat sternly and monotonously 


232 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


scraping the lint Doctor Durand had requested me to have 
in readiness, merely to employ me and get rid of my impor- 
tunities, perhaps, with tears dropping on my hands, and a 
grasp of iron laid upon my throat. 

“ What’s the matter dear Miss Harz ? ” said Bertie sud- 
denly opening her eyes ; “ Has father come home ? I thought 
1 heard voices in the library, or is mother ill ? ” starting up 
in her bed. “ One of them sounded in my dozing ears like 
Doctor Durand’s. ” 

“No, no child. It is simply a case of murder!” I 
answered, swallowing my tears literally. “ Major Favrand 
it seems has been committing a crime — not his first I sup- 
pose by many.” (These last words spoken between my set 
teeth.) “ The cruel, merciless wretch ! ” 

“ Who is it this time ? ” she asked with provoking cool- 
ness. “ He had young Juarez out before, Miss Lurlie’s 
Spanish friend, our guest at the time, for uttering some 
heresy. Who now ? Wentworth or Gregory I suppose. 
Vernon is too decidedly inoffensive even for his choleric 
majesty to pick a flaw in.” 

“ Did he murder Juarez also ? ” I asked in an accent of 
bitter scorn. “Is it thus your father permits his guests to 
be stung to death by this ill-natured viper ? Is the roof of 
Beauseincourt, no protection to its inmates ? ” 

“ Why, I thought you and Major Favrand were hand in 
glove, Miss Miriam. No, he did not murder Juarez. It 
was Hazlehurst, that he killed in a duel, if that is what you 
mean by murder ; all blown over long since. But that was 
years ago, a mere political quarrel, I believe ! ” 

“ What fearful levity,” I murmured, shuddering. 

“ Tout au contraire, as Count D’ Agnaud would have 
said, Miss Harz ; Juarez * murthered ’ him,” she continued 
speaking in a strong brogue, (“You see I have given the 
Bull its right accent) as he is living yet ! Living and likely 
to live if I mistake not. He is invulnerable in all but 
his heel, I believe, like Achilles, or rather ankle. He 
limped for a twelvemonth after that duello, however, and 
Juarez escaped unharmed, which we were all glad of. They 
were the best of friends afterwards of course. A little pow- 
der and shot in the flesh is very endearing in the opinion of 
Southern men. They are bound by ties of blood, father 
says, ever afterwards.” And she laughed maliciously, 
adding, “I think I can guess the victim by your doleful 
face.” 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


r o -> 
Z.OO 


How her levity jarred' on every nerve that day ! Bertie 
had never seemed so detestable before, unendurable as she 
often was ; I could have stifled her almost that night ! My 
love for her had turned to gall momentarily. 

“Be still, Bertie Lavigne ! " I commanded, “if you can- 
not speak differently on such a subject! That noble life in 
jeopardy below stairs, is worth a dozen of such butterfly 
existences as Major Favrand’s. For my part I pray that 
eternal justice may overtake him, if earthly fails to do so. 
May he sutler ! " — 

The curse hung suspended on my lips as it died away in 
my heart ; for 1 remembered the incubus that oppressed 
his life already, and his wife's condition ; and was half 
appeased ; judaically ! 

“ You ought to be more impartial, Miss Monfort ! " said 
Bertie, speaking from the bed, in those sharp, yet sup- 
pressed accents natural to her in moments of excitement, 
“ Captain Wentworth has no family, I heard him say so, and 
but little object in life. Major Favrand has* a mother and 
sisters dependent on him, who would be left in poverty very 
likely were he cut off suddenly. Besides that, he is Aunt 
Celia's idol, and she would never survive his loss, as delicate 
as she is, and already affected in so many ways. I was 
afraid something of this kind would happen when those 
Northern men refused to drink father's toast ; I saw Major 
Favrand’s face then, it was not bigger than my fist and the 
color of a quince. His eyes were like coals of fire. That's 
the way rage always makes him look. No one else seemed 
to notice him though, or you, but you know I see every- 
thing, have nothing else to do but observe. You did not 
drink lather’s toast either, Miss Miriam Monfort ! But who 
cares for what women do ? " contemptuously. “ With men 
it is different, they must be brought to order and made 
answerable. I wonder father let it pass — but he is such 
an easy, one-sided, inconsistent old soul, there is no account- 
ing for anything he does. Not any more merciful though at 
heart than Major Favrand if the truth were known, only his 
wits are always out crusading." After a pause, “ I thought 
you had gotten over that folly of yours by this time Miss 
Miriam. Wentworth is a mere fortune-hunter, I am sure of 
it. Put your foot on all care for him I entreat of you, he is 
not worthy of such a great soul as yours." Adding with a 
furtive smile, “ lie wanted Miss Lurlic, if you only knew it I 


234 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


I saw how her diamonds fascinated him, but the Count had 
the whip hand there. ” 

These bitter and impertinent words aroused me more 
fully than my own reflectious had done to what I owed my- 
self in this emergency, outwardly at least. 

“ Bertie,” I said, calmly as though I had not heard them, 
“ get up and dress yourself as quickly as you can, and come 
and help me to scrape lint. Women should learn early to be 
efficient. Suppose you were to marry a soldier.” 

To my astonishment she came silently to the task, and I 
saw that her hands trembled as she wrought it. 

Not long afterwards Bertie Lavigne acknowledged to me 
that the observations she had made that day were wholly 
baseless (as I knew them to have been), even in her own 
opinion ; but that a wish to save me from the greater agony, 
had impelled her to inflict what she considered the lesser, in 
that strange spirit of perverseness that ruled her life — her 
actions, to the entire eclipsing of many noble qualities. 

“ I thought if I could convince you of his light-minded- 
ness and carelessness of yourself, that you would not find 
his loss so bitter,” she said, “ but I knew very well, all the 
time how it was with both of you.” 



CHAPTER XIII. 

WEEK of great anxiety to those composing the 
household of Beauseincourt intervened between the 
“ duello,” of Major Favrand and Captain Went- 
worth, and the final opinion of Doctor Durand as to 
the fate of the wounded man. From my chamber 
immediately over the library, where lay the latter, 
I heard those repressed groans so suggestive of 
bodily agony and strength of will combined, so infinitely 
more heart-rending than the loudest complaints of weaker 
organizations. 

A painful operation had to be performed and submitted to 
in the necessary extraction of the ball from the side which 
it had penetrated not far from the region of the heart, bury- 
ing itself almost indiscoverably, as it seemed at first, in a 
mass of muscles. To aid him in this delicate and responsible 
operation, Doctor Durand called in the advice of a surgeon, 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


235 


resident iu Savannah, who came promptly, confirmed his 
own judgment as to the necessities of the case, and assisted 
in extracting the ball ; departing as swiftly as he came, there- 
after, ghost-like. 

This was long before the introduction of the use of chlor- 
oform as a merciful mediator between the knife and its sub- 
jects. Captain Wentworth bore his pangs with unusual 
fortitude and courage. Holding the hands of Vernon for all 
comfort, looking steadfastly in his face from first to last and 
uttering but few groans while the knife and forceps torture 
were in process, but fainting immediately afterward. 

Of all this Bertie informed me regularly, although to her 
communications I turned as Sphynx-like a countenance 
as possible and made but few rejoinders. Sylphy was 
amazed, I was told, at my hard-heartedness, not having 
suspected its existence before ; but in order to conceal and 
control emotion, it was necessary to petrify the surface and 
wear a mask of marble. 

And during all this time of intense anxiety to me, my 
schoolroom duties went on regularly and many of my hours 
of leisure were passed, at her request in Madame Lavigne’s 
now almost insupportable society, who, since her husband’s 
departure had more than ever clung to me as a means 
of solace. We spoke but little by tacit consent, of the con- 
dition of the wounded man in the library, for it had been 
found impossible to move him from the couch on which he 
had at first been placed. I saw plainly, that Madame La- 
vigne was inclined to impute blame where it was unde- 
served, and little as she really liked Major Favrand to pre- 
suppose injury where none had existed. 

No allusion was ever made by her, however, to the real 
cause of that hostile meeting which had been so nearly fatal 
to one party, from consideration to my feelings as a North- 
ern partisan, no doubt.* The life of Captain Wentworth as 
1 have said, hung on a thread until the seventh day, when 
a decline of fever and the appearance of more favorable 
symptoms in his condition, gave Doctor Durand, for the first 
time since the operation had been performed, a gleam of 
hope that his life might be spared. 

To go back a little, however, in the interval of anxiety : 
There came a night of storms, of wind, and rain, and truly 
“Egyptian darkness.” Doctor Durand had come and gone 

* a feeling shared by all Southerners, not sectional In those days, be it remembered. 


236 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


as usual during the day, proposing to return and pass the 
night by the now delirious patient, but he had found it im- 
practicable to do so from the condition of the streams he 
had to cross. Mr. Gregory was ill himself, or feigned to be, 
and obliged to seek his bed, and Mr Vernon, who «till main- 
tained his post, was much worn with watching. Jura and 
King it is true, were always in attendance, one or the other 
to wait on the parties. But an intelligent assistant to the 
already weary watcher, was absolutely needed, and the 
question was* who should assume that office. One of re- 
sponsibility, rather than efficiency perhaps, yet strictly es- 
sential at a crisis like the present. 

I did not hesitate under the circumstances to volunteer 
my services, as I should have done for any human being in 
such need. God knows had feeling alone been in question, 
I would have maintained my watch from the beginning 
above the sick man’s pillow, unremittingly, unflinchingly ; 
but as yet in the cowardice of my conscience, I had never 
approached the threshold of his room, or hazarded more 
than a passing and careless enquiry concerning his condi- 
tion. Yet his groans had rent my heart when others slept, 
and banished sleep from my eyes — had pursued me in 
memory to. the distant schoolroom, and made the words be- 
fore me unmeaning and vague, even as the food that passed 
my lips had, during this whole interval of suspense, seemed 
tasteless as sawdust. Thus deeply, under a calm, cold and 
even careless exterior, had I suffered. 

It was ten o’clock at night when I entered the dimly 
lighted library and took my seat by the head of Captain 
Wentworth’s bed. I had looked for a change, of course, 
but scarcely for so shocking an alteration as the one which 
even that imperfect light disclosed. His beard was long 
and dark and added by contrast to the cadaverous pallor of 
his sunken visage. His nose was drawn to a line, his lips 
so compressed from constant suffering that the white line 
around them seemed made of bone, and his eyes were full 
of a wild and lurid fire, as unlike their usual placid expres- 
sion as the gleam of a meteor is to the steady radiance of 
sunshine. 

“ Alas 1 the mother that him bare, 

Could she have been in presence there 
She had not known her child 1 ” 

I bent above him as I gazed, stirred by a sudden compas- 
sion profound and strong as motherhood itself, that swept 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


237 


all conventionalities before it, and my hot tears bathed his 
unconscious forehead. Vernon, worn and weary as he was, 
and accustomed to the sight that so unnerved me, could not 
resist the contagion of my grief and the sound of my vainly 
suppressed sobbing — he too wept silently. 

“ lie cannot sleep / ’ he said at last in a husky whisper, 
“ if he could do this, Doctor Durand thinks he might be 
saved. But opiates have ceased to affect him, except to 
excite. His insomnolency in itself will destroy him, unless 
speedily prevailed against / ’ ‘ 

Then as by some subtle association and as with a sweep 
of wind fingers over 1 the harp of song, these lovely lines of 
Shelley from his Greek drama of Hellas, flashed irresistibly 
through my brain ; and I murmured them involuntarily above 
his head. 

“ I touch thy temples pale, 

I breathe my soul on thee 
And could my prayers avail 
All my joy should be 
Dead — and I would live to weep, 

So thou might’st win one hour of quiet sleep 1 ” 

Was there no spell in these words ? In another moment 
the presence of the practical returned, and I asked only the 
prosaic ‘question, so different from the inspired thought, 
“ Did you ever try soothing him by passing your fingers 
lightly through his hair, or bathing his brow gently with 
tepid water ? ” 

“No, we use cold water for this purpose, by direction, 
and I fancy that he dislikes the application very much. How 
I have wished,” he added after a pause, “that be could be 
magnetized, as I once was in Russia ! But for that wonder- 
ful agency I should not be keeping watch in this sorrowful 
room to-night ! But such an assistance it is in vain to hope 
for in a place like this.” 

“ Let me try my skill,” I said impulsively, and I recalled 
what Doctor Pemberton had once theorized my own lethar- 
gic condition to be. A suffusion of the brain, caused by too 
much nervous fluid (not venous!) producing a coma-like 
condition, until absorbed again into the system. Why might 
I not reproduce this state of things in another, on the prin- 
ciple of pouring from a full vase into an empty one ? Why 
not reverse the poles and clench the wand of magnetism so 
often directed against me by Nature, in my own hand ? Ay, 
turn the tables on the Dame herself! 


238 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


The electric element was stirred to its centre that night T 
felt, by the wild storm raging without, and ready for action. 
No lightning could ever strike me, Doctor Pemberton had 
once said laughingly ; and I had believed him, already so 
fully charged as I was, with the counteracting fluid ; for 
Nature who abhors a vacuum seeks only to fill up spaces. 
Utilitarian even in her works of destruction ! 

All this passed like a meteor through my mind, before the 
repiy of Mr. Vernon had time to strike my ear. (What tele- 
graph ever equalled the celerity of thought ? What sunbeam 
ever surpassed its splendor ? ) 

“ Have you ever practised magnetism, Miss Harz, that 
you. propose such experiments ? ” asked Mr. Vernon. 

“ Never ! ” 

“ Then I fear it will be a failure. There is an art about 
it, as well as a gift; (it is ~ a profession in Eastern Europe 
you know, that of laying on of hands !) but do what you can 
for him in God’s name, and if you succeed, command my 
eternal gratitude. ” 

" You love your friend, then ? ” I asked in low accents. 

“ Love him ! revere, idolize him rather!” he exclaimed, 
pressing his lips on the worn and flaccid hand that lay 
extended on the coverlet, for Doctor Durand had succeeded 
by degrees, in insinuating Christian bed-clothes under and 
around the invalid, and a white Marseilles spread now cov- 
ered the couch like a snowy pall. 

“He is everything to me, Miss Harz,” he continued, 
“ father, brother, mentor, even. But for him I should have 
been lost and destroyed long ago. I am naturally a weak 
man. He rescued me from great temptation once; but of 
that no more at present. And now that he is to leawe me, 
perhaps, at the bidding of a selfish fire-eater, I find it hard 
and bitter to bear. But the end is not yet ! ” 

His clenched teeth and locked features attested the 
anguish of his emotions, and some stern resolve struggling 
within. 

“I am no coward, I trust,” he pursued, “yet did no 
woman ever plead more humbly to her husband, her son, — 
her brother, in the same cause, than did I, to Wardour Went- 
worth to refuse this challenge. Why should his noble life 
have been made subject to the wanton will of a bully, tired 
of inaction ? There was no better reason for this duel aud 
he felt it, but he was persecuted, pressed to the wall, and 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


239 


he turned like a stag at bay. As if a man like this were 
going to make an abject apology simply for having done his 
duty ! You see they left him no loophole of escape. Never 
was persecution more persistent or pointed. ” 

“ 1 have suspected this from the first,’ ’ I answered low ; 
“but why did he not rise above it all ; what were these men 
to him ? ” 

“Alas! I vainly urged this argument. Another time I 
will make all plain to you. But mark ! already the charm 
is at work ; his lids are drooping, Miss Harz, yet you seem 
to be employing no means, save the simple threading of his 
hair to attain this purpose.” 

I bowed, for all reply. I had no explanation to offer. 

“ Take possession of the sofa, Mr. Vernon, and sleep if 
you can,” I said at last,” I will watch and apprise you, 
should he need your attention.” 

He obeyed me mechanically, silently. Jura was sitting, or 
nodding rather, on a low chair by the fire in front of a posset 
cup, in which some arrowroot for the sick man was kept 
warm on the hearth, and King lay at length on the rug, 
sleeping soundly, as his periodical snores attested. 

I had him all to myself now. and 1 felt conscious of a 
power that night, won from such responsibility perhaps, that 
was beyond my own comprehension. It sustained, it up- 
lifted, it calmed me. My thoughts had but one centre, one 
focus, radiate as they might ; every energy, every endeavor, 
of nerve, brain, muscle, were bent involuntarily to one fulfil- 
ment. And it came ; the words of the poet were realized. 
At midnight he slept, the deep, magnetic slumber. I could 
not be mistaken. What natural sleep was ever like to this ? 
It was death-like in repose, yet full of evident vitality. 

The breathing was deep and regular ; the pulse soft and 
full, and a faint, warm moisture exuded from the hitherto 
parched and contracted skin. The lips relaxed into a gentle 
smile, the nostrils expanded from their rigid line and the 
whole countenance was transfigured into peace and calm, 
as though his guardian angel had brushed it with his wing. 

“ This is not death, but life ! ” I murmured triumphantly, 
falling in the next moment on my knees beside the bed with 
low words of humblest thanksgiving, praise and prayer. 
When I looked around again, Mr. Vernon was gazing in- 
tently on me from his sofa. I forgot self at that moment in 
the rapture of the reality before me. I rose and beckoned 


240 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


to him to draw near. I believe at that hour my feelings 
approached more nearly to those of a disembodied spirit 
than they have ever done in the whole course of my life. 
Self and selfish affection were all put aside in view of the 
necessity of another and his welfare. 

“Come and witness this miracle of God’s working,” 
I adjured him, solemnly, “ Behold ! he sleeps the comfort- 
ing, magnetic slumber.” 

Something in my tone and manner, my very appearance, 
perhaps, standing there in my flowing white dress, pale as 
marble, and almost as cold and serene (as he told me later) 
of aspect, seemed to impress Vernon strangely. He gazed 
at me for a moment as if I had been a stranger. 

“ You seem transfigured,” he said earnestly ; “ what is it 
that changes yon so ? And God be praised the poor storm- 
tossed sufferer sleeps at last. Now Heaven has heard your 
prayers.” 

We stood silently together, bending above the couch, 
when during one of the pauses in the storm (when silence 
seemed solidified in its intensity, in contrast to the peals 
of thunder that preceded and succeeded it), I heard a 
quick, distinct tapping at the door, that gave upon the 
gallery. 

“ It is only a bird seeking refuge from the tempest,” said 
Vernon, sternly; “ give it no heed; let every thought be 
centred here, where you are so greatly needed.” 

“My task is ended,” I replied; “I feel this intuitively, 
as far as this service of slumber is concerned, at least. The 
servants sleep, exhausted probably ; I will not disturb them, 
but check, myself, the intruder on the threshold — for this is 
no bird I feel, as you suggest, seeking shelter from the 
night, the doctor himself, perhaps, as I trust it may be ; or 
probably Bertie, frightened to death, at awaking and find- 
ing herself alone ; for she knew nothing of my intention of 
watching.” 

“ Let me go then, Miss Harz.” 

But I checked him instantly. 

“ No, no ; I prefer to encounter Bertie myself, for I feel 
convinced it is she, and she must not be admitted, nor yet 
terrified. She is too impressible to be brought in contact 
with illness.” 

Yet with a strange unwillingness, for which I could 
scarcely account, a morbid dread even of what it might re- 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


241 


veal, I unclosed the door, in answer to the repeated sum- 
mons. A quick faint tapping, rather than a decided knock, 
such as Poe’s raven might have been supposed to have made 
on a memorable occasion, was again heard. 

11 Pray heaven it waken him not,” I murmured, as I turned 
the knob and opened the door ajar, anxious to avert further 
risk of disturbance to the sleeper. A man wearing a 
slouched hat, pulled low over his face and dripping with 
rain, wrapped too, in a wet cloak that clung closely about 
him, while he held in his hand the riding-whip, with which 
he had rapped lightly for admission, stood on the threshold. 
It was not until he spoke that I recognized Major Favrand. 

“How is he to-night?” he asked, in a husky whisper ; 
“ I could not trust to the report of servants, so came my- 
self. Yet I assure you it rains!” shrugging his shoulders 
in his peculiar way. “ Ah ! is it you, Miss Harz ? ” taking 
off hat and glove and extending his hand now, of which I 
took no notice, “ I thought Doctor Durand had the watch ! ” 

“ I cannot tell you how he is,” I replied, “ with any cer- 
tainty,” still holding the door in my hand ; “it would take 
a physician to decide that, nor can I comprehend, I acknowl- 
edge, why you of all persons, should care to know ! ” 

“ You are severe, Miss Harz,” he said, in a low voice. 
“ Grant me at least, the possession of human feelings, if no 
more. When the requisitions of honor are satisfied, other 
considerations succeed in the breast of every man worthy 
of the name. I myself have been wounded in the duello, 
without resenting it one particle. I never regretted any- 
thing in my life as much as the necessity for this affair, I 
assure you.” 

“Necessity!” I sneered, “you choose your words in- 
aptly, it seems to me, for a man of erudition. Were you to 
say iniquity, 1 should understand you.” 

“Iniquity, then, if you will have it so; anything for 
peace and penance. I would like to jump down into a burn- 
ing crater to-night, just to get rid of myself. I am so su- 
premely wretched ; ” raising his hand to his forehead, “ but 
you do not give me any satisfaction.” 

“ No, I have none to give you. If your own safety is 
your object, and it surely is endangered, if there is any 
justice in this land, you had better fly at once probably. It 
does no one any good to have you shivering at the door, 
and beyond it you shall not come witu my consent. Shall 
15 


242 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


I arouse King or Jura to get you fire and brandy elsewhere ? 
Those are your necessities, I suppose. There is no crater 
convenient 1 believe, and warmth is your idea just now, 
probably.” 

“ Ay warmth ! heart-warmth, compassion, sympathy, 
not chilling scorn like yours ! ” 

“ Go elsewhere then and seek it, Major Favrand,” I 
answered, “for I have none to give you,” drawing back. 
“ The hall door is unlocked, the dining room fire still smould- 
ers ; I will send you an attendant in a few moments. Go, 
if you really want to know the result of your despotic and 
cruel act, and watch by that glimmering hearth with what 
feelings you may. Watch and pray until morning if you 
ever do such things. Doctor Durand will by that time have 
arrived, and nature declared her intentions. At present all 
is uncertainty.” 

I closed the door softly without awaiting his reply, and 
dispatched Jura to his aid as I had promised to do, who 
found him in tho dining-room, stalking up and down, an 
object of compassion in the old servant’s eyes, if not in mine, 
an exercise which he continued uninterruptedly until 
morning, 

When I returned to the bed*side, I found Vernon, who sat 
absorbed in watching the slumberer. 

“ Yes, l do believe he sleeps through your agency,” he 
said, “ will you test it Miss Harz ? ” 

“ How shall I do this ? ” 

“ Speak to him and he will answer you.” 

“ I would not disturb him for worlds, Mr. Vernon, his 
sleep is life-giving perhaps.” 

“ But you will not do that, in any case ! Speak in a 
whisper if you will, and if this is a natural sleep, he will not 
hear you. If a magnetic one, ho will reply. One question, 
only one ! murmur it inaudibly if you prefer it ; it will be 
all the same. The experiment will be perfect.” 

So, adjured and convinced of the reasonable nature of this 
demand, I murmured low above his head, but not inaudibly 
to Vernon, an earnest interrogatory : “ Have you forgiven 
Major Favrand ? ” 

“ I have forgiven him and all others so offending,” was 
the muttered reply, spoken after a short interval, with an 
immovable aspect, and as if some foreign voice found egress 
from lips of stone that scarcely seemed to move, while the 
deep sleep continued undisturbed. 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


£4 > 

“ Do you wish to see him in order to tell him this? ” I 
whispered, impulsively and before I could control inclina- 
tion ; dreading an unintelligible reply this time I confess. 

“ No, never more. 1 will never see him again, if I „can 
help it. Let Yernon tell him all, ” murmured the mechanical 
lips. 

“ It is beyond a doubt, ” said Vernon, deeply moved; 
11 your influence controls him ; your will alone can awaken 
him 1 God grant his holy calm to such awakening.” 

“ Amen 1 ” was my deep-voiced response, reacting from 
heart to mouth. Yet again in the depths of my own spirit 
another murmur of involuntary inquiry which never passed 
my lips, went out to the unconscious sleeper. Yernon was 
scarcely more startled than 1 was, when the distinct reply 
was heard to this inaudible appeal. A reply as thrilling and 
welcome to me, as it was incomprehensible to him ! 

“ Yes, with all my soul ! ” and this was all. Again deep 
silence fell upon the scene. The oracle was mute. 

“ Thank God for this, at least, come weal, come woe ! ” 

I murmured, and for a moment I felt the burning torrent, 
unperceived by my companion in that shadowed place, 
s utilise my face, my throat, as it would have done in the pri- 
vacy of my own chamber, then die away again like a 
retreating wave. 

“ YVhat can these words apply to ?” mused Yernon, softly. 

II A continuance of that sublime assurance of forgiveness 
under flagrant circumstances I suppose. How wonderful, 
how mysterious is the influence of soul upon soul ! What 
a medical agent it might be made, putting aside any other 
uses ! By the by, Miss Harz, was that Favrand's voice I 
heard at the door, or have I been dreaming ? No, do not 
fear that my words can wake him now. I was absent 
minded at the time not to have anticipated your movement 
to open it, though you forbade me. Once you were there, 
1 did not care to interrupt you, however, or to follow.” 

“ Yes, it was he. Very penitent and wretched it appears 1 
Anxious to know the truth as to Captain Wentworth's con- 
dition.” 

“ What an unaccountable farce ! ” he spoke with bitter 
derision ; “ he reminds me of a woman I once read of in the 
‘ Causes Celebres ' who gave poisons merely for the pleasure 
of weeping over her victims, whom she attended in their 
death throes with the greatest assiduity, unsuspected for 


244 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


a long time as their author. IIow is he much better than she 
was ? ’ ’ 

I was silent, and it may be that he misapprehended my 
silence, for he continued, — 

“You are still dubious, of course. Some day I will show 
you the correspondence, and I think your sense of right 
will then bear out my assertions. It was, from first to last, 
insolent and overbearing, such as no gentleman could brook, 
— and yet Captain .Wentworth fired in the air, you know,” 
adding, between his set teeth, “ I shall not do this, how- 
ever ! ” 

“I had not heard,” I replied. “No details have been 
afforded me.” 

“ Very Quixotic to those who do not know the man as I 
do, this act appears, no doubt ! But it was a perfectly nat- 
ural one, taken in connection with his peculiar views. Of 
all persons I have ever known, he is the most tenacious of 
being in the right, whatever may betide, for his own sake 
as well as the sacred cause of principle. He could not 
avoid this meeting and continue here, he thought, where 
his work lies for the present, in the face of the bitter and op- 
pressive usages of the land. His life must have been, soon- 
er or later, the sacrifice had he done so, he conceived, for 
cowardice would have been imputed to him by the undis- 
criminating, and he would have been assailed at every point. 
So, for the sake of future peace, finding reason unavailing, 
he chose to accept the challenge of Major Favrand, without 
a feeling about the matter stronger than disgust, — and 
venture life for ultimate safety. This was his view, not 
mine. He told me the evening before the duel what lie in- 
tended to do. They fired simultaneously. Major Favrand 
with deadly intent, no doubt, — Captain Wentworth in the 
air. This is what galls the Southerner ! Hot coals have 
been heaped on his head for the first time by an antagonist. 
But not through regard for him, let him rest assured, if the 
thought consoles him. Captain Wentworth looked beyond 
him in forbearing — beyond time.” 

“ He is truly a noble Christian,” I said, quietly. I could 
not trust myself to eulogize, where I already felt so deeply. 

“ Ah, if you did but know all, Miss Harz ! ” and his soft, 
fair features, even in that subdued light, glowed with en- 
thusiasm. “ You, who are but a stranger, cannot be ex- 
pected to feel as I do ; but I would like to have him appre- 
ciated to the full, if possible, by such a mind as yours.” 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


245 


11 Should I know him long enough,” I faltered, “ I shall 
meet you in full sympathy, no doubt. Now, all is uncer- 
tain, — his life even.” 

“ Y es > yes, I forget. I am too sanguine, perhaps. But 
I must believe his life will be spared. 1 could not give him 
up. Not now, not now, at least ! God grant our prayers 1 
^et, if not granted, God grant me my revenge ! ” And he 
wrung his hands in an anguish that was almost feminine in 
its outspoken fervor. Yet, his purpose was a manly one. 

It was now for the first time that I understood him. This 
was on the sixth night. When Doctor Durand came at day- 
break, he saw remote cause for hope, though his patient still 
lay bound in that strange, surpassing slumber, — the chains 
of which were unloosed by the lifting of a distant hand, the 
whispering of a will, before he came again at evening. 

At my request Vernon had not spoken of my participa- 
tion, real or imagined, in this refreshing lethargy of soul 
and sense. 

I disliked, inexpressibly, the idea of the sort of small 
notoriety, and fanciful discussion such knowledge might 
give rise to, and bring about, and preferred that nature and 
his truly good and skilful physician should share the credit 
of the patient’s restoration to the arms of sleep. 

I was, I knew, but a tool in the hands of the all-pitying 
Mother, the merciful Father. But sweet it is to render ser- 
vice, even if secretly and involuntarily, to those we love and 
reverence. 

** You are the best nurse we have had yet, Miss Harz,” 
said Doctor Durand, as he wrung my hand when we met 
casually, on the gallery near Madame Lavigne.’s chamber, 
on the evening in question. “1 saw your faculty for the 
executive department of medicine displayed when Bertie 
was sick ; and now it seems you are doing wonders for our 
wounded Yankee. As his physician I must thank you. 

‘ Tired nature’s sweet restorer, balmy sleep,’ you know, and 
all that sort of thing. The fact is, the old fellow that said 
that knew what he was talking about. There is nothing 
like it when natural, and not drug induced, in the whole 
Pharmacopoeia as a simple recuperative. Quite sensible too, 
this evening; quite * himself again,’ as Robert, or Richard, 
or whatever his name may be, said in the play. Eye mild 
pulse soft — voice low, but natural, — the instrument grad- 
ually coming into tune, I think. Have you seen him to- 
day, Miss Harz ? ” fixing his quick, deep eye on me. 


246 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


u No, not since breakfast time. My watch terminated 
then, and I gave holiday and slept all the forenoon. This 
afternoon I have been taking advantage of the first glimpse 
of sunshine to breathe a little fresh air. Oh, I wish I were 
the clerk of the weather, or his wife, Doctor Durand! it 
should never rain for more than an hour or two at a time, 
and I would banish veils from the face of the heavens en- 
tirely, and let the sun go barefaced, in the present city fash- 
ion for beauties. But unfortunately I have not the honor 
of such acquaintance even, or of being included in family 
consultations. ” I was talking nonsense for diversion, now. 

“ Nevermind, I will make it up to you. I will call you 
in as my consulting oracle, whenever there is question of 
soothing an irritable patient, or coaxing him or her to sleep. 
Now, could not you be induced to take charge of poor 
Wentworth again to-night ? The crisis is very important, 
for such it is, I suppose ; as a case, — a mere case, I am 
deeply interested, I confess ; but I pity poor Favrand al- 
most as much.” 

“Pity him! why? How does he excite your pity ? I 
confess I enjoy his torments.” 

“Oh, Miss Harz ! ” 

“ I do, indeed, Doctor Durand. The arbitrary, overbear- 
ing aggressor ! If I had been a man I should never have 
fired in the air, as his adversary did, I assure you, sir. 
Nothing short of a limp for life would have contented me.” 

“You fierce, blood-thirsty, puritanic girl! Your eyes 
are actually blazing ! I never saw you look so well, by 
the by, as at this moment. Remember the old adage though, 
my dear young lady, and be just ! When you are in Tur- 
key, you must do as the turkies do, — gobble, or be gobbled 
up ! a case in point. Favrand is a South Carolinian, idoliz- 
ing the modern Washington of his State, and his policy, and 
can ill brook the slightest disrespect with regard to him. It 
was a matter of State pride with him, as much as personal 
affection. Wentworth had only to retract, and be forgiven. 
I saw the correspondence ; it was magnanimous on one side. 
But this he positively refused to do. Naj^, more ; when 
pressed for his opinion, he gave it frankly and daringly 
enough. Just think of his calling our great man a selfish 
traitor ! Well, after that, what occurred was a natural con- 
sequence. All right, of course. No one could blame Fav- 
rand any longer. But the greatest insult, and most ' un- 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


247 


kindest cut of all/ it seems to me, was that firing in the 
air. What possessed the man ? It was bitterly contemp- 
tuous conduct certainly/’ 

“I am glad you consider it such, and, moreover, truly 
hope that Major Favrand shares your opinion. I thought 
until I came here, that the free utterance of sentiment was 
an unalienable right appertaining to every American citizen ; 
that public men, were public property, liable to be dis- 
cussed, disapproved of, or eulogized, as suited the tastes or 
interests of the speaker ; and that no man was made answer- 
able to another for the opinions or arrows he chose to launch 
at those targets, for popular feeling. I am enlightened, 
Doctor Durand ! I find myself unexpectedly in the Chinese 
empire, with its mandarins of many orders as its directors 
and despots. Small thanks for courtesy that has no deeper 
foundation than coincidence of expression I Small gratitude 
for privilege to eat and drink and move in physical freedom, 
as a condition of the bondage of the soul. I too refused to 
give that pledge without intending to offend or dreaming 
of observation. I justify Captain Wentworth ! ” 

“ My dear, dear girl ! help me to cure him, and I don’t 
care what you think or do afterwards. You may even 
marry him if you choose — or Vernon, or Gregory — and 
help carry chain, cook, wash and manage for the trio — 
bitter as would be my disappointment in this case, and 
deep your own humiliation — so that you get the man on 
his feet again. But don’t talk this way to any one else, I 
beg of you ; Madame Favrand has been nearly crazy about 
this affair. It came very near killing her. I am going 
there now to see and comfort her, if 1 can. Have you no 
consideration for her ? that poor, excellent, suffering lady.” 

“ The greatest, the very greatest. Tell her so, if you 
please ; that is, if you think she would care to hear it, 
coming from such a source. But for him, the heartless, 
fire-eating bully, nothing, nothing of the kind, either now 
or hereafter. I scorn and detest him inexpressibly.” And 
I folded my arms tightly. 

** Shall I tell him so, Miss Harz ? ” archly, as he shook 
my hand in parting, for I could not refuse him that cour- 
tesy. 

“ Just as you please, Doctor Durand. He knows my 
sentiments perfectly, from my own lips, already, I believe, 
and, as you may suppose, regards them very profoundly. 
When do you come again ? ” 


248 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS . 


“ To-morrow. Say, do you take the watch to-night ? If 
bo I shall still hope for amendment. Answer me now ; will 
you be so obliging — no or yes ? ” 

“ Oh, certainly. It is simply a Christian duty. I would 
do as much as that, even lor Major Favrand himself, per- 
haps, at extremity. But I really fear you are inclined to 
over-rate my efficiency.” 

“ Results show for themselves. You will give him those 
drops on the mantelpiece according to directions on the 
bottle, should he be sleepless, not otherwise. What did 
you administer last night ? ” 

“ Nothing ; I had no directions from you, remember,” I 
said. 

“ True, true ; it is very surprising, though, that the 
change should have occurred so suddenly,” walking away 
with his hands in his pockets, his head down, thinking hard, 
evidently, to puzzle out the mystery. 

“ Miss Harz,” returning briskly on his steps just before 
I reached the stairway, and plucking me fiercely by the 
sleeve. 

I paused of course, and looked back like the indiscreet 
Eurydice, or the brothers of the Princess Parazade, or Lot’s 
saline wife, on hearing my own name, but with a different 
fate I acknowledge. 

“ It has just occurred to me,” looking up confidently by 
this time, and with a very beaming expression of discovery, 
“ that it is barely possible that you are unconsciously mag- 
netic. Have you ever meddled with this new-fangled 
theory set to practice, that is agitating all you Northerners 
just now, after convulsing Europe in vain, called 'mes- 
merism,’ before you came to Beauseincourt ? Now tell me 
truly ; I ask for the sake of science.” 

“ Never, Doctor Durand, before I came to Beauseincourt, 
I assure you.” 

u Well, well 1 it is most extraordinary. I see no good 
reason for that sudden cessation of fever and delirium super- 
inducing sleep so profound as to have been evidently a pre- 
mature crisis. I thought it would be several days yet be- 
fore that would take place, and was wondering how poor, 
exhausted, suffering nature would bear the strain so long. 
For opiates such as I cared to administer, had lost all 
soothing effect, and to give large doses was, it seemed to 
me, to endanger enfeebled life. The doctor is detained by 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


249 


raging creeks and storm, and the patient prospers in his 
absence as he might not have done in his presence ! A little 
witch glides in with some magic philter, contained in her 
eyes, perhaps, and the son of Galen is put to shame. Reveal 
your art, Miriam Harz, or stand indicted for trial the next 
session of wizards. Come, sister physician, tell me this 
mystery, I entreat of you,” coaxingly, “ your country 
people have burned fair women as witches for smaller causes 
you know. See, I menace as well.” 

“ * Doctor, doctor, cease your strife 
Mor longer idly rave, sir. 

As I’m not your wedded wife 
I am not your slave, sir.’ 

“ Nor would all the wheedling you are master of, make 
you master of my secret. How do you know, by the way, 
that a crumb of that Calhoun Cake may not be at the bottom 
of the whole proceeding ? 1 The hair of the dog is good for 

the bite/ and Hahneman works magical cures on that prin- 
ciple.” 

“ So you are a mere charlatan after all ! A sugar-plum 
quackess, going about with little globules in your pocket.” 

“ Half the world is cured with sugar-plums, you know. 
Nothing like kindness, doctor.” 

il One thing is certain ; 1 not poppy nor mandragora, nor 
all the drowsy syrups in the world, could ever minister to 
such sweet sleep/ as thou, Miriam Harz, did’st, in some 
mysterious and nefarious way, manage to induce last night, 
on a certain wakeful, weary, wounded Yankee’s eyelids! ” 

“ Doctor, there is another version of that matter perhaps, 
which you have not seen fit to take. Now I fancy Captain 
Wentworth is one of the elect, in whom you believe ac- 
cording to the precepts of your charitable church. Those 
are sweet words and comforting to some spirits, but to de- 
serve them is a rare privilege, believe me. * God giveth his 
beloved sleep.’ ” 

And so we parted, neither of us convinced, nor yet very 
likely to be so. 


250 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

t MONTH elapsed before Colonel Lavigne came home, 
and when he did so, he was wretchedly wan and 
worn. To judge from appearances, he had been 

f engaged in a wrestle of some sort, little less disas- 
trous, (if of a different nature) than that, death had 
so recently waged with life, in the system of Cap- 
tain Wentworth. 

I happened to be present at the first interview between the 
master of Beauseincourt and his guest, after the return of 
the former. At the request of the invalid, I had been read- 
ing “ Hyperion ” aloud that morning in his chamber, assist- 
ed by Bertie, who flew in and out, as she listed. Marion 
and Madge had done their part bravely in tfiese readings ; 
and now entreated respite ; for until that day I had not 
bestowed my services on the entertainment of one from whom 
I sedulously sought to conceal the interest he had awakened 
in my breast. 

Never had my voice sounded to my own ear, so cold, so 
monotonous, so little musical as on this occasion, and I fan- 
cied that my own want of spirit was communicating itself 
rapidly to my auditor, when the door opened and much to my 
relief, as quite unexpectedly, Colonel Lavigne stalked in. 

The ceremonious greeting over (for a strange coldness 
had crept between the head of the house and myself of late, 
and towards his Northern guests he had always been strictly 
punctilious and courteous), a silence ensued, through which, 
though with evident effort, Captain Wentworth was the first 
to break. 

“ You find me in complete possession of your den, Col- 
onel Lavigne , ” he said, smiling wanly. 

“Yes, and with all the bones lying loose about, ” was the 
rejoinder, glancing with the partial eye off a master as he- 
spoke, at the sundry uncouth and rusty looking weapons, 
that graced the walls ; and at the long array of meerschaums 
above the mantelpiece. 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


251 


“ Nothing has been disturbed I believe, so far,” observed 
Captain Wentworth, following the complacent eye of his 
host with an amused expression, “ but as I grow stronger, 
1 may become meddlesome, so be warned in time, and if 
uneasy about their safety, remove your deposits at once, 
Jackson-like.” 

“ No, no ; I only hope you may find comfort in some of 
these trophies. There are pipes there that might satisfy a 
pacha of three tails. And as you are able to creep about a 
little by this time, you would be the better of a whitf now 
and then. Sir Walter Raleigh, you remember, relieved his 
imprisonment in that way.” 

“ I seldom smoke, even when in health, and then only a 
good cigar. A pipe is too business-like, too engrossing for 
a busy man like me. Just now the draught of tobacco too 
on my energies would be prodigious. It takes all I have to 
keep me from falling back again. I think I shall enjoy the 
perusal of your quaint copy of King James’s counterblast 
about this time.” 

“ You have been seriously ill, I know. I regret the cause 
as much as any one could. Favrand is entirely too Quix- 
otic.” 

“ I am glad to hear you admit this, Colonel Lavigne,” 
earnestly, “ it has not been one of the least painful circum- 
stances connected with my helpless condition that I have 
been necessarily indebted for hospitable kindness to those 
who might be supposed to have been represented by Major 
Favrand’s act. Your disclaimer is a great relief t <5 my 
mind.” 

‘ Sir, as my guest, and above all as my son’s friend, you 
must have been exempt under any circumstances, from or- 
dinary penalties,” said Colonel Lavigne, loftily. 

“ Noblesse oblige,” I heard Bertie murmur in a low tone. 
She had gone out for a moment to meet, after a whisper 
from Sip, and had returned with, her father, but her face was 
solemnly sympathetic with him now, not at all derisive. 
The child, with all her anti-Huguenotish professions, was 
truly clannish, and a partisan to her heart’s core. 

'‘"But where,” said Colonel Lavigne, digressing very 
wisely (before he could have received a reply which might 
have embarrassed him) from the subject of discussion, 
*• where are your young friends, Gregory, Yorke, and Ver- 
non ? Have" they abandoned you to the care of the Philis- 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


2o2 

tines ? I do not see them about, and I had hoped that all 
of you, under such circumstances, would remain together.*' 

“ They are out on surveys, ” was the careless answer, 
“ that I ought personally to be superintending. Camping 
with Patrick, their pillar of household strength (for he 
serves tlmm as cook, laundress, and purveyor, and what is 
technically called, bottle-washer), somewhere on the. skirts 
of your ‘ Lesdernier * settlement. At the edge of the 
swamp, I believe.** 

“ Rather a disagreeable location at this season, they will 
find it, I apprehend. Strangely enough my son’s salubrious 
little nest in the hills, overhangs this truly dismal swamp ; 
and from its lofty site the eye embraces the great, sombre, 
cypress-grown marsh beneath, with its dismal lake and oc- 
casional revelations of black, shining pools and reed patches, 
for an extent of more than twenty miles. By the way, why 
don’t they fit up the Refuge for their abode ? ” 

“Without my knowledge or coincidence, but with Doc- 
tor Durand’s advice, this has already been done, I believe, 
Colonel Lavigne. They meant to take me there, in case of 
a wound, when the fight occurred, but the crisis seemed too 
imminent, and the risk too great at the moment, so, at 
least, the physician thought, and consequently they brought 
me, in a state of unconsciousness, hither. In a few days, 
however, I hope to be able to take possession of Walter’s 
cottage, with your permission, until I am my own man 
again. In the meantime 1 can peep down occasionally on 
the swamp encampment, and encourage the boys. Yorke, 
especially, is but a green recruit. My own idea about the 
result of the duel was, that I should escape untouched, or 
be killed, one or the other. So that I thought very little 
about providing a hospital or retreat for myself.” 

“ You overrated Major Favrand’s skill and humanity 
both, it seems,” with a grim smile. 

“ The last, not the first, probably,” was Captain Went- 
worth’s stern rejoinder. “ I suppose he did what he meant 
to do. I give him credit, at least, for accuracy and discrim- 
ination as a marksman.” 

“ You will meet and shake hands soon, over a joram of 
punch or claret, I hope, and all will be forgotten. It is our 
Southern way,” hazarded Colonel Lavigne, carelessly. 

“ Not mine, however,” rejoined Captain Wentworth, coldly. 
“ Yet I too, claim to be a Southerner, for I am a Virginian.” 
Here Bertie whispered to. me, — 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


253 


“I like him for that. He is unforgiving. I would not 
give a cent for one of your mealy-mouthed making-up sort 
of milksop men. He is a real Jew.” 

“ He is not unforgiving,” I said. “No there are other 
considerations. But be still, Bertie, this is surely no affair 
of ours.” 

“Let us go then,” she said, “ since we have no business 
here.” 

“ Presently ; I have still a page or two unfinished ; I do 
not wish to return.” 

And when Colonel Lavigne had withdrawn, I calmly con- 
cluded my chapter. I rose then to say good-morning. 

“ Miss Harz, ten minutes more,” he plead, with upraised 
hand. 

“ Certainly, Captain Wentworth ;” sitting down again 
quietly. 

“ That poem you gave me, according to promise ; inter- 
pret it yourself this morning.” 

“Is it so incomprehensible then? I told you it was an 
allegory. 

“No, surely not. But I mean simply, interpret it through 
the medium of your voice. I have an earnest desire to hear 
you read it. It would impress me more.” 

“ I shall succeed very badly, I fear, in recommending it 
to you by this method. Indeed, I am not in voice to-day.” 

“To-morrow, then.” 

“No, to-day rather. I cannot come back to-morrow.” 

“ She will not,” said Bertie : “ she can if she likes, but 
she does not fancy sick people, nor their cavern-like cham- 
bers, so still, so smothering ; that is the truth, Captain 
Wentworth, the cave of Trophonius, you know.” 

He smiled incredulously, and shook his head. 

“No, she has some better reason than that, I fear, Bertie. 
Some less general reason ; however, 1 submit, and embrace 
the alternative — the poem now, or never, perhaps.” 

And he drew it from his portfolio on the table, near which 
he was sitting in a great cushioned chair covered with white 
dimity, that had been Colonel Lavigne’s mother’s sick chair 
of state and was still supposed to be imbued with healing 
properties for the invalid. 

“ Here, Sip, take this to Miss Harz ;” and the small sable 
valet pro-tem. instantly darted forth with his tiny silver 
salver, as instructed to do by Jura whenever called upon to 
act the part of Mercury. 


254 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


“Now do your best,” said Bertie, pertly, as I took the 
poem given away so carelessly a month before, so much re- 
gretted now that I had dropped the plummet down into my 
own heart and sounded its depths. 

“You must have patience with my tame reading then, if 
you will have me read it,” I said deprecatingly, “every- 
thing I write seems so flat after the effervescence is over. 
And this, as I told you, I believe, was written long ago, 
and merely came up in relation to our discussion about 
‘ memory.’ ” 

“ I remember, and the conditions you annexed as well. 
Neither praise nor censure admitted. Too proud for criti- 
cism, Miss Harz.” 

“ Too humble, probably if the truth were known,” I re- 
plied, “ but to prove this, I revoke one part of my prohibi- 
tion. You may censure as much as you please, it is eulo- 
gium only that I sternly prohibit, mere matter of course as 
it would be on such an occasion.” 

“ What if I were to assure you,” he began eagerly — 

“ Nay, listen rather,” I interrupted; “time is passing; 

' ten minutes ’ glide very swiftly away, Captain Wentworth. 
It was for these you stipulated I think,” and I began. 

There was some asperity in my tone or manner probably, 
that struck him painfully, for I felt that his grave interroga- 
tive eyes were fixed on me sadly, though my own were cast 
down on the page before me. I read mechanically, for be- 
tween me and the words beneath, floated his serious and 
noble countenance, wan, yet clear, his languid, yet stately 
form robed in its purple, fur-trimmed dressing-gown, (a 
relic of polar latitudes,) reclining in its intense repose and 
attention both, in the deep invalid chair in the corner ; the 
fine statuesqe head cast back, the long, nervous hands 
folded, the steady, speaking gaze directed to my features. 
I was truly glad when the ordeal was ended and I found 
myself at liberty to depart. The simple, yet emphatic 
“ Thank you,” of the patient, being the only words that 
broke the silence afterwards. 

I laid the manuscript once more before him, containing the 
poem of the “ Golden Lyre,” bowed, without lifting my 
eyes to his, and left him coldly, followed by Bertie. 

1 lay my poem before the reader in that spirit of confi- 
dence which has so far influenced me toward him ; giving 
him permission to read it, skim it, or ignore it altogether, 
as suits his pleasure or convenience. 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


255 


To present such alternatives at all might seem a work of 
supererogation, were it not for the honorable understanding 
supposed to exist between author and reader, — when of 
equal culture, — the unspoken contract that for the time 
enlists the mind that receives in the interests of the brain 
that creates and makes them one. 

Without further preamble then, I strike my “ Golden 
Lyre.” 

THE GOLDEN LYRE. 

Give me the golden lyre again 
I cast aside in earlier years, 

And I will wake another strain, 

Though dim the chords with tears. 

Give me my lyre — I loved it well 
When on the shores of life I stood, 

And made those earnest numbers swell 
That stirred the solitude. 

I sang of Love, I sang of Fame, 

I sang of Hope, the young, the fair, 

And at my call those visions came, 

Those glorious shapes of air : 

And stretching forth their godlike hands 
Above the wide and gleaming main, 

They wooed me from those yellow sands 
I never sought again. 

Upon those shores I flung my lyre, 

Impatient of its golden weight, 

And, linked with that immortal choir, 

I dared the tide of fate. 

I 

Then felt the waves a spell of power, 

Then heard the heavens a solemn chant, 

Such as have seldom since that hour 
Made silence jubilant. 

Borne upward by those glancing wings, 

Across the weltering waves I flew, 

Nor heeded those low mutterings 
That stirred the waters blue. 

Nor feared the rising of the gale, 

The surging of the billow’s crest, 

Nor shrank to hear the eagle’s wail 
Above the water’s breast. 
i 


256 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


I knew not in my buoyant youth 

What dark, portentous signs were these; 
To souls, unskilled in wrong and ruth 
Omens are mysteries. 


But when the evening shed her gloom 
Across the wild and warring tide, 

I felt each frail and shadowy plume 
[Relaxing, leave my side. 


And in the dark and starless night, 

When winds and waves together strove, 
They left me to the tempest’s might, 

All left me, — even Love. 

Morn came, — a bleak and dreary morn, 
And found me on a sterile strand, 

All feeble, tempest-tost and worn, 

Lone in a stranger land. 

Cast like the sea-weed from the brine, 
Wrapped in a vague despair I lay, 

And the dark dreams that then were mine 
Can never pass away. 

But soon the Godhead in my breast 

Woke ’neath the cold, clear eye of dawn, 
And at my soul’s supreme behest 
I rose and journeyed on. 

And turning inward from the main, 

I found a valley, lone and deep, 

Wherein to make my home of pain, 
Wherein to wait and weep. 

There, mourning o’er ray faith betrayed, 
My prospects crushed, my hopes undone, 
I dwelt unheeded, in the shade, 

By all things — all, save one. 


A haunting shape had made its cell 
Within that “ valley of the past,” 

And I have learned to love it well 
That dearest friend, and last. 

That low, sweet voice hath reached my heart 
Through years of unreverting care, 

And yielding to its angel art 
I turn to days that were. 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


257 


Those vanished dreams surround me now, 

I crave once more my golden lyre, 

Oh ! stranger of the glorious brow, 

The eye and lip of fire, 

Go to those bright eternal sands 

Bathed by the waves of Life’s wide sea, 

And seek the harp my careless hands 
Cast down in ecstasy. 

Enchanted by that touch of thine, 

Oh, dweller of angelic spheres, 

'Twill utter still a strain divine, 

Though dim the chords with tears ! 

And we will praise thee, holy Truth, 

The spirit kk Memory ” and I, 

Until the visions of my youth 
Return no more to die. 

T received that evening a note in an unfamiliar hand. The 
•writing betrayed the feebleness of the writer, uncertain as 
it was, yet it was a clear, compact calligraphy no doubt at 
its best, and possessed strange power to move me. From 
the first I suspected its authorship, when Sip stood beside 
me, with his little outstretched tray, on which a sealed 
letter was lying. I took it mechanically, and held it long 
with the seal unbroken. 

Is dere any answer, Miss Mirime ? ” asked Sip, twitch- 
ing his forelock as he bowed with one foot elevated behind 
him. 

“ None that I know of. You may go now, Sip.” 

And slowly, and sadly, and not without blinding tears, 
I read the contents of Captain Wentworth’s note, simple as 
it was, and thus it ran : 

“ Miss Harz : — 

“ You came to me unwillingly, I fear, this morning, as 
you left me coldly, and the consequence is, I am wretched. 
1 will not, dare not accuse you of inconsistency, perfect as 
your whole conduct of life has seemed to me ; and I am 
forced, however unwillingly, to the mortifying conclusion 
that 1 have unwittingly offended you. If this indeed be the 
case, give me, I implore you, an opportunity'of reinstating 
myself in your esteem, by explaining to me frankly, the 
cause of your coldness, your indifference of late. 

16 


258 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS . 


In this melancholy struggle of mine between life and 
death, I have been made sensible of my debt of gratitude to 
you for kind and merciful attentions, such as a sister might 
have rendered to a suffering brother. Your three nights’ 
vigil, held partly by a bed of delirium, are engraven on my 
heart by every law of gratitude and honor ; and I should be 
wanting in manhood were I to suffer a cloud to rise between 
us now, without making an effort to dissipate it. Conde- 
scend then, I implore you, to set forth to me my offence or 
short-coming, if such exist at all, and relieve me of a burden 
that I feel almost too great to bear. 

“ Should there be nothing of this sort, however, and 
should your change of manner arise from caprice of mood 
alone, or from the shadow of some sorrow which you prefer 
to conceal, forgive me, I beg, for the intrusion of this en- 
quiry, and try and forget that I have ever doubted you or 
myself. 

11 We are strangers in a strange land, and bound together 
in some sort, by such indirect affinity. Should you need 
such service as I can render, do not hesitate to claim it, not 
alone as a meed of gratitude, but as a tribute of esteem. 
It troubles me to see a shadow on your bright, ingenuous 
countenance, which to me, has been as a rose blooming in 
the desert to travellers in Eastern lands, in this dreary and 
monotonous region, where your voice, your smile, alone 
have cheered my existence, and I would fain lift it away. 

“ Forgive this long, rambling note — which I dread to look 
over because too feeble to rewrite — and reply to it, I pray 
you, in that spirit of candour and benevolence that usually 
actuates you. In the meantime rest assured of the respect- 
ful devotion of 

Wardour Wentworth.” 

What woman is there who has not proved the luxury of 
bolt, and bar, and solitude, when there was question of 
perusing the characters traced by a prized and cherished 
hand ? What mortal eye could be other than intrusive in 
such communion of soul with soul, and what rapture ex- 
ceeds that of entire absorption of thought and being in the 
peculiar characters of one we love ? To pore over a letter, 
line by line, word by word ; to bathe it with tears or em- 
balm it with kisses ; to lay it against brow and heart, as 
though it bore a talisman to calm the one and nerve the 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


259 


other ; and finally to lock it away where no eye nor hand can 
ever reach it, save one’s own ! Arc* not these privileges 
dear to every breast of feeling or refinement ? Who can, 
who ought to share such emotions with another ? 

And thus I felt at first when reading and re-reading that 
impulsive, yet measured letter. Warm on the surface, cold 
at the heart, whose true meaning broke on me suddenly 
at last. A duty performed, no more ! tribute rendered to 
self-respect, not affection — to courtesy, not devotion. A 
knightly note, such as a true gentleman was bound to 
write in order to set himself in the right position with 
one who misconceived him, perhaps, (and this thought sent 
the blood in burning torrents to my brow,) to a woman 
piqued, evidently, that he had assigned limits to an inter- 
course she had found too pleasant to surrender without a 
struggle, a sort of friendly finale ! I covered my face with 
my hands. 

An hour later I sent by Bertie an answer to the letter I 
had read so rapturously at first, so sadly and indignantly 
later. For in this order, to my understanding, had the 
latent and underlying intention struggled up to the surface, 
as a corpse rises, after a season, upon the water. But he 
should never see that I had understood him, never ! Like 
himself I would affect simplicity, candour, indifference. 
And so I wrote : 

“ Captain Wentworth : — 

“ I regret that physical depression should have influenced 
my manner this morning. Believe me, my regard for you 
is entirely unchanged, and you attach too much consequence 
to a feminine privilege especially dear to me, that of variety 
of mood. 

“ As to the services you are good enough to hinge much 
gratitude upon, they were mere Christian duties, to which I 
hope you will never recur again, even mentally. I wish it 
were in my power to do as much for every sufferer. Your 
very kind and gentlemanly offers of aid and assistance I 
shall hold in abeyance, trusting, however, that we may both 
pass safely through the trials that surround us in this land 
of strangers, without farther difficulty or need of one 
another. With sincere wishes for your speedy recovery, I 
remain, very truly your friend, 


Miriam Harz.” 


260 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


I , sent this insincere and unworthy note, with a feelirg 
of petty self-gratulation for which I despised myself later 
as years after I drew forth his letter and read it with differ- 
ent eyes. Pride and vanity ruled me in this proceeding ; 
but the past rose up before me at the time, with all its fatal 
memories of betrayal of trust reposed and mockery of afi'ec- 
tion. Never again — oh, never again should the role of 
Claude Bainrothe be enacted with my consent and as far as 
1 was concerned. No ! better oblivion — solitude — despair 
forever ! 

I find this entry in my journal of that date betraying the 
same spirit : 

“The old wound smarts to-night. I must guard the 
cicatrix carefully, lest it bleed again. I must avoid that 
fatal influence. I have been rash to trust myself with- 
in its sphere so completely, so confidingly. God help 
mein my struggle ! My feelings are dyspeptic ; they cannot 
digest rich aliment. I must entertain them with hermit’s 
fare — they are not strong enough to withstand another 
shock. I must close the doors of my fortress, and bolt and 
bar them silently, and so keep out intruders. It is not so 
easy to eject an inmate as to prevent his entrance. Guns 
pointed without tell only on outsiders. He who gains ad- 
mission is safe — ay, master of all within the citadel. Let 
me cleave to my purpose and turn aside for no man. I have 
vowed to put my enemy under foot, be it at the peril of my 
own life. What have I to do with softer passions than 
justice and revenge ? Let me not forget that the blood of 
Esther flows in my veins and that the scaffold is not yet 
builded for Haman ! While Basil Bainrothe holds one hair 
of my head I am unsafe, as Luther said of Satan. A few 
months more and then my years will make me his equal in 
the strife. The names of ward and guardian will have no 
force nor meaning, and armed with the majesty of the 
offended law I will confront him. My sister, my remnant 
of estate, my bayou-gashed gold lands, so providentially 
and marvellously revealed to me, all will be in the hollow of 
my hand again, and woe betide the fraudulent conspirator. 
As for Evelyn, with her I will deal accordingly as she has 
dealt with Mabel and my old servants, — mercifully if they 
have fared well, vengefully, if through her they have suffered 
— justly I hope, with God’s permission, in any case.” 

No more of this. And yet it may be conceived how 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


261 


much comfort I found in this old black book of mine, with 
its silver clasps, its fair and friendly bosom on which to re- 
pose otherwise unspoken confidence ; and if I smile over 
many of those records now, there are others blistered with 
recent tears, though of ancient inditing. Doctor Johnson 
knew the cravings of the human heart when he recommended 
Mrs. Thrale to keep a diary as a safeguard against desola- 
tion. I forget the stately words wherein he clothed his 
counsel. 


CHAPTER XV. 



(WO weeks had elapsed before I saw him again; 
weary and wearing weeks to me of monotony and 
gloom. Others went and came to and from that 
solemn chamber, where sat a man who never smiled 
they told me, — sad and grave as if age had sudden- 
ly stolen upon him and made him captive. I alone 
crossed not its threshold, sent and received no mes- 
sage, a voluntary exile from a presence, which, under more 
favorable auspices it would have given me such joy to seek, 
but which could only wither and depress me now. I was 
acting on the defensive ; my peace, my reason were at 
stake, and I must guard them as I would my life. Oh, fatal, 
fatal passion ! how hadst thou stolen upon me in the rebound 
of feeling and in my unsuspecting fallacy of strength, and 
fettered me hand and foot, as Samson was bound, while se- 
curely slumbering. But I would break these bonds — break 
them, even as Samson did, like withes of flax and rise up 
again, albeit in my blindness, to draw down ruin upon my 
head. For life, and the very aspects of nature were 
changed to me of late, as if indeed a cloud had obscured 
my vision ; and again the gladness and glory had departed 


from Beauseincourt. 

“ I don’t wonder you never go near Captain Wentworth 
now, Miss Miriam,” said Madge one day, “he has grown 
so stupid. I never saw bodily ailment depress a man so 



262 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


greatly ; he is altogether changed ; I had begun to think 
him very agreeable.” 

“ He is doing penance, perhaps, for having fired in the 
air;” I suggested, carelessly. 

“ Or lamenting over his boot that Mr. Duganne cut to 
pieces to draw off with less pain to his wound on the day 
of the ‘ Duello.’ Yankees are so stingy, you know,” 
sneered Bertie. 

“ But he is not a Yankee at all,” said Marion, earnestly, 
“ a real Virginian instead, like Mr. Gregory, and like him 
too, with ancient English blood in his veins ;” and she 
glanced at me for confirmation. But I was resolutely silent. 

“ Vernon is a Yankee anyhow,” said Bertie, tauntingly, 
“ he has a real cod-fish look.” 

She could be very coarse sometimes, we know. 

** Oh, Bertie ! ” and the eloquent blood in Marion’s cheek 
remonstrated beyond her words against such rudeness and 
injustice, and betrayed her vivid interest in the young “ Es- 
quimaux,” as Madame Lavigne and Bertie called and con- 
sidered him. 

“ ' Oh, Bertie ! ’ what? He is better-looking than Greg- 
ory, anyhow. I am afraid of that man ! He has the step 
of a catamount, and is beardecHike a Pard, as the old Parrot 
says somewhere of somebody.” 

“ Bertie Lavigne, you are too pert and derisive,” quoth 
Madge, turning sharply upon her sister and manifesting in 
turn much interest and exasperation, “ mother ought to 
check you, if Miss Harz wont. 

Here Bertie extended her hand theatrically. 

“ I cry you mercy, ladies ! when I come of an age to have 
beaux of my own, I shall understand perhaps, how to sym- 
pathize with your tender solicitude. But just now I find you 
equally incomprehensible. Both of the gentlemen in ques- 
tion are in love with Miss Harz. What’s the use of squan- 
dering your young affections ? ” and she laughed mischiev- 
ously. 

Glances at once distrustful and inquisitive are directed to 
me. I remonstrate in turn, — 

“ Bertie, Bertie, how can you be so mischievous?” and 
she comes and kneels beside me, and whispers low, “The 
poor, poor fellow ! he is dying of despair ; but no one 
dreams of it except me. What did you write in your note 
that hurt him so ? ” and the young head lies upon my knee. 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


263 

“ Ah, Bertie,” and my tears flow fast, so unexpectedly 
loosened. 

“Nevermind! ” looking up suddenly and brightly, “he 
is coming out to dinner to-morrow, the doctor says he can. 
He prescribed port wine, but I know something that would 
do him more good — a wine called ‘Tears of Exile” here 
is one drop on my hand, he may kiss it off if he likes.” 

“ Oh, Bertie ! you surely would not,” and here I paused. 

“ No, I would not ; but don’t be so stubborn. The man 
can’t help being poor and ugly, and stupid and old, and dis- 
agreeable and a Yankee. You should not hate him for that. 
Besides he loves you so devotedly.” 

All this was said of course in undertones. 

“ Child, child, your folly is oppressive.” 

“ Say wisdom rather. No preacher ever talked more to 
the point than I do now — not Mr. Fairleigh himself. By 
the bye, he will be here shortly. Mother’s best friend ; 
have you heard her speak of him ? His brother used to be 
in love with her, you know.” 

I bowed for all reply ; my heart was full, and I was glad 
when Madge and Marion, who for some moments had been 
whispering at the window, were summoned away and I was 
left alone to chide Bertie openly at first and to end by re- 
ceiving her in my arms. 

“ Just tell me that you love him, Miss Harz ; I will never, 
never breathe it to a living soul, not even to a reed ! I do 
not ask from curiosity, but your heart will burst if you do 
not confide in somebody. Whisper it to me softly.” 

“ Bertie,’ I said “ did Charlotte Corde need to love any- 
one ? You dream ! Be content with your part of my 
affection, and ask nothing for others.” 

“ Oh, but he is so miserable ! I pity him so,” and she 
clasped her slender hands, “ I do indeed for all my foolish- 
ness.” 

“You do him injustice, child. He is a man of dignity, 
of courage, of rare moderation, not easily penetrated, be- 
lieve me, by one of your years. His sufferings have a widely 
different source ; do not enquire deeper, or you will offend 
irrevocably both him and me. Nay, Bertie, if you perse- 
cute me any further in this fashion I shall leave Beausein- 
court.” 

She stood confounded. I had never menaced her with 
abandonment like tlrs before, and she was cut to the heart. 


264 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


“ It is enough,” she said ; “ that threat ends it all — for oh I 
what would life be without you now, my Miriam ! ” and she 
threw her arms about me ; “ yet this once let me plead for 
him ; no one will love you better than he loves you, and 
your treatment is so cold, so unaccountable. Others think 
you detest Captain Wentworth and wonder at it ; but I 
know better — yes I know better.” 

“Child,” I said, “listen to me patiently for a moment. 
Your intelligence lifts you beyond your years, your affec- 
tion entitles you to my confidence and you will understand 
me. Once before, I believed myself beloved, was deceived, 
and for a season blighted and half broken-hearted. I recov- 
ered — after what suffering, what struggles, God alone can 
know. I find myself well and strong again, but less confid- 
ing than of yore, guarded at every point. ‘ The burnt child 
dreads the fire/ you know. I cannot lightly surrender this 
boon of liberty, or render myself once more liable to mis- 
treatment. I will place myself in the power of no man 
until I know him and myself more perfectly than I do now ; 
subject myself to no second humiliation. I am poor, alone, 
and my energies and good name are all that remain to sustain 
me on my path of life. These I must cherish for a mighty 
purpose. I am girding myself up, Bertie, to strike a vital 
blow on the day of my majority ; a blow at the success of 
my enemies. I am nerving myself for this, and this alone. 

“My secret is my own. I can and will confide it to no 
one, involve no one else in my uncertain fortunes ; and 
until all be made clear as the noonday sun makes the azure 
heavens, I will continue my solitary way. 

“ Bertie, you have a heroic heart. I think you can con- 
ceive of and appreciate my motives as many older and more 
experienced persons might not do. I cannot trust myself 
in the sphere of an influence that might endanger nr^ peace, 
my purpose. Life is all before us ; hereafter Captain Went- 
worth may understand me better ; I cannot explain matters 
now.” 

She listened with grave attention. 

“ In the meantime,” she said, “ he must suffer it seems ; 
may die perhaps. Ah, Miriam Monfort, you have an iron 
will beneath that soft, open exterior of yours, unsuspected 
until now ! I little thought that I should ever plead for him 
when I jested about Miss Lurlie. But he is a noble man, 
and devoted to you — and if I were a few years oldei T 
should love him myself, I think, just to comfort him.” 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


265 


She shook her head. 

“ Comfort him if you can, dearest Bertie, in every possi- 
ble right way, but never speak one syllable that has passed 
between us with regard to him, or I shall cease to respect 
you. Captain Wentworth would be little worth, either as 
a man or lover, did he let a few cold words and looks dis- 
courage him. If his regard for me be true, and honest and 
enduring, he will prove it yet. And as for me, I am far 
weaker than you think, Bertie, or I should not need to be 
on the defensive. Now leave this subject unstirred in the 
future, if you are indeed my friend.” 

She drew near to me, she grasped my hand. 

“ But that hint about Charlotte Corde,” she murmured, 
“ that troubles me. What does it mean ? ” 

“ It need not, Bertie ; I only used a comparison to denote 
my strength of purpose. My life would be insufficient to 
me without such atonement as I promise myself by the over- 
throw of an enemy. But I would not touch his life if I 
could, believe me, by the uplifting of a finger. I am no 
murderess, Bertie, either in heart or deed. 

“ Do you know I have always been afraid I would kill 
somebody, and be brought to trial, sometime or other,” she 
mused. “ This thought is a kind of temptation that besets 
me occasionally. It is very dreadful,” and she lifted her 
hand to her brow in a bewildered way, “ I was afraid you 
had the same feeling. It may be myself, though, after all,” 
she added, with a ghastly smile, “ but, oh, Miss Harz, con- 
cealment is a bitter burden, I think, whether we are guilty 
or innocent. Do you not find it so ? ” with startling abrupt- 
ness. 

“No, Bertie, no, my mystery has its limits and is only 
observed to ensure my personal safety. See here, my love,” 
and I drew from its place of concealment that advertise- 
ment which had so harrowed my feelings when it met my 
eye, “ read that, dear Bertie, and judge what my injuries are, 
what my feelings must be. I, a woman in the fullest pos- 
session of God’s noblest gifts, reason and virtue, am hiding 
from people who would place mein a mad-house, could they 
find me — people who have a right in the eyes of the law to 
do this during my minority, through the medium of false 
oaths and bribes which they would use unscrupulously to 
effect their savage purpose, the end of which is, to force 
me into a loathsome marriage with a man from whom my 


266 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


soul recoils.’ ’ And I told her then of Bainrothe the elder and 
his persecutions. 

Mute with indignation, with her large, clear eyes ablaze, 
her lips fixed in scorn, she read the ignominious publication, 
tossed down the paper and stamped on it with pale cheeks 
and grinding teeth. 

“ 1 would have their hearts’ blood I ” she exclaimed, pas- 
sionately. 

“ No, Bertie, no, not that, only my rights, dear child,” 
and I gathered up again and carefully folded the trampled 
sheet that bore such proofs of injustice on its very face. 

“ Thank God ! thank God, the time of your justification 
approaches,” she said vehemently, “ you will throw off your 
burden of mystery then ; you will be free again. It is 
otherwise with me,” she continued in mournful tones, “ I am 
a galley slave. I bear the chain and ball for life, and the 
brand besides, here,” pressing her hand to her heart, 
“ blacker, blacker than the grave.” 

Her head sunk on her breast, her Slender fingers were 
intertwined convulsively, her whole expression of face and 
attitude were indescribably pathetic, at least to me, who 
held the clue of her Minotaur mystery. But of this she knew 
not, and recovering herself, sjhe looked up and said in a 

changed voice, — e..£'v ^ .. ’ . 

“ You must not believe I have done anything wicked, 
Miss Harz, no, no, indeed ! you know the very worst of me ; 
but sometimes one becomes possessed by the merest accident, 
of the secrets of others, and then one is bound to keep them 
like one’s own, you know, and the shadow they cast falls 
over our hearts also, and shuts us away from life and joy for- 
evermore ! ‘ The sins of the father,’ you know the Bible says, 
‘ are visited on’ — but that would be scarcely applicable, of 
eourse,” hesitating and coloring, unused as she was to a 
quibble, and twitching nervously at her apron-strings. 
“.The community of sorrow you spoke of the other day, it 
is that, that , I mean.” 

“ Yes, Bertie, that is an established law by which we 
must abide. But no heart is stained by the wrong-doing of 
others, however it may be burdened.” 

“ Bo you think so*/ ” she interrogated vaguely, speaking 
like a person in a dream, “ I cannot feel that way — I wish 
I could — but I shall walk alone through life on account 
of that shadow. No one else shall ever come under its bleak 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


267 


influence for my sake and until the Judgment day it will 
cling about me.” 

“ Death terminates all earthly burdens, Bertie/ ’ I said, 
gravely. 

“ No, no, I do not believe that ; if I arise from the grave 
at all, I shall arise Bertie Lavigne, none other, and the 
same thoughts and memories will remain with me then that 
possess me now. Don’t you think strong love and hatred 
endure beyond the grave, and the sense of injury ? Do you 
expect to love your foe, Mr. Bainrothe, in Paradise ? ” 

“What is the subject of this discussion?” asked Mr. 
Gregory, advancing upon us softly and suddenly. 

We were in the drawing-room, the windows of which 
were lifted that lovely day in February, so as to admit the 
soft air and sunshine to warm its walls, for the hearth was 
now tireless, and dampness permeated the apartment. Ber- 
tie arose with a little cry. 

“ You startled me,” she said, “ my mind was on ghostly 
things. I did not know you for a moment, you came in so 
quietly upon us.” 

“ Do I look so spiritual then? ” 

“No, but you walk like a spirit. It makes me afraid of 
you, Mr. Gregory.” 

And you, Miss Harz, are you too afraid of me ? ” he 
asked/trying to look tenderly in my face. 

“ Oh, certainly ! you are very terrific indeed, especially 
when you scowl in that way.” 

“ But I want you to be afraid of me, I do, positively ; 
Qthat is the first step to a softer feeling, I think,” laughing. 
■O “Shakespeare did not think so,” I rejoined, “when he 
said, ‘ Pity was akin to love/ but I see nothing about you to 
/ compassionate, Mr. Gregory.” 

“ Except your self-conceit,” interposed Bertie, contempt- 
uously, adding a moment later, “ and your corns ; I can see 
them through your boots. What a martyr you must have 
been tb tight shoes all your days.” 

S/My dear, dear young lady, you are clairvoyant, certainly ; 
I Sought that was a secret between me and my shoemaker. 
You are too penetrating, by half, Miss Bertie Lavigne ; the 
man that marries you can hope for no concealments,” with 
asperity which made no impression on its object, for by this 
£’ time Bertie was almost out of hearing, having perceived 
Ossian on the gallery ; an irresistible attraction to her ever, 




268 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


for her spirits rose and fell as those only of the very young 
can do, with every new cause of excitement or depression. 
A flower, a dog, a rainbow, were enough to thrill and excite 
her, even when under the influence of such reflections as 
she had just been indulging in, and away she bounded now, 
with Ossian in full pursuit, graceful as a deer. 

“ Have you seen Captain Wentworth to-day, Miss Harz ? 77 
asked Mr. Gregory, “ and how is he ? 77 

“ Better, I believe, but 1 have not seen him/’ I replied, 
carelessly. 

“ Ah 1 I thought you met every day ! 77 

11 You were misinformed or mistaken.’ 7 

“ Both, perhaps, you seemed very good friends at one 
time, though, 1 thought. 77 

“ We are still so 1 hope, Mr. Gregory. 77 

“ Yes ? 77 interrogatively, raising his eyebrows, an imper- 
tinence and a solecism is this expression in itself to my ear, 
for the very sound of “ yes, 77 denotes its clenching quality. 
I never could bear that special affectation. 

“ That’s a very pretty cameo pin, Miss Harz, a real onyx, 
I perceive. Your own profile is it not? 77 bending down to 
observe it closely. 

“ No, a silhouette of Sappho, 77 unclasping it, with ex- 
treme disgust, “ examine it if you like, Mr. Gregory, it is 
curiously well carved. 77 

“ Ah, exquisite, indeed, 77 returning it blandly, “ every- 
thing you wear, however simple, seems of the finest taste, 
the rarest quality, I observe, 77 bowing with gracious conde- 
scension. 

“ I was once better off than I am now, and these things 
were purchased then/ 7 I said, replacing the pin coolly, 
“ that accounts for all. 77 

“ So I thought/ 7 he observed seriously ; “the mark of 
high-breeding and birth is indeed indelibly impressed upon 
you. Major Favrand, a good judge, remarked this in the 
beginning of your acquaintance. Bye the by what do you 
think of that affair — the duel 1 mean ? duello as these folks 
so affectedly call it. Wentworth is acting out his charac- 
ter, one I penetrated from the first, you see, in refusing to 
shake hands. Favrand sought an interview before he went 
to New Orleans, but it was refused. I could have told 
him what the result would have been before, had he consulted 
me, however/ 7 clasping his own supple hands together. 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


269 


“ You esteem Captain Wentworth of an unforgiving dis- 
position then, Mr. Gregory ? What reason have you had 
to think so ?” I asked impulsively. 

“ Cold men like him when once offended are implacable, 
you know. He is incapable of much ardor in any case — he, 
a man bent upon the prosecution of fortune and anxious to 
advance himself in any honorable way. Between ourselves, 
some consider him, 1 hear, where he is well known, a regu- 
lar fortune-hunter ” (confidentially.) 

“ 1 should not have thought so, Mr. Gregory — indeed,” 
I hesitated, flushed — was this man drawing me out X What 
in any case need I care for his opinion ? “ He seems quite 

disinterested,” I continued tamely, “very impartial even.” 

“ High sounding professions amount to nothing, you know 
— and he never expresses a mean sentiment, which Bulwer 
says somewhere, is better than never feeling one, or the 
next thing, certainly. But with ail his diffusive benevo- 
lence and talk about putting aside “ expediency ,” Went- 
worth is a hollow man, I fear — that is, empty — I do not 
mean deceitful exactly, but he would not turn on his heel to 
serve a friend or hurt an enemy.” 

“Mr. Vernon’s opinions are so different and he has known 
him much longer ! ” 1 could not help rejoining. 

“ Oh, Vernon is a shallow enthusiast 1 I think I estimate 
men correctly at a glance, 1 am naturally clairvoyant like 
yourself. But what am I doing ? Casting out my usually 
carefully restrained opinions of others, as unguardedly as 
though I had known you all my life and had cause to place 
confidence in your discretion X What charm is there about 
you, Miss Harz, that commands men’s souls to empty them- 
selves at your very feet X ” 

“ That is for you to decide, Mr. Gregory. I certainly am 
not conscious of exerting any art of this kind. I am not at 
all desirous to be the recipient of confidence, nor am I very 
; confidential myself usually. You will oblige me in future ” — 

“ Your nonchalance is beyond everything ! ” he 'interrup- 
ted ; “ who, and what do you care for, Miss Harz — or is it 
with you, as in the old song X ” and he murmured, 

“ My heart’s in the highlands, 

My heart is not lie re. 

My heart’s in i lie highlands 
A hunting the deer.” 

“ My dear, rather, eh„? ” regarding me audaciously. 


270 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


“ Why do you care to know, Mr. Gregory ? ” I asked in 
his own spirit ; “ you are not a ‘ roe/ are you, though you 
well know how to fawn.” 

“ Because, — because,” and he bowed his head before me, 
covered with shining black hair, straight and sleek, and yet 
so lull of a sort of individual life, that it looked as if every 
hair might suddenly curl up and creep away, a tiny serpent, 
llis mood seemed suddenly changed. 

“ * Because ’ is a woman’s reason, Shakespeare says,” I 
said, and laughed. 

“ Then hear a man’s ; ” and he suddenly seized my wrists, 
with characteristic audacity, and drew me irresistibly near 
to him, looking steadfastly in my shrinking eyes. “ Because 
you interest me more than any woman I ever saw,” he said, 
between his set teeth. “ Because I love, adore you ! be- 
cause you madden me ; there, if you will have it ! ” and he 
literally flung my hands away from him, seizing his hat and 
rushing instantly from the apartment, as Madge entered it. 

“ Why what on earth possesses Mr. Gregory to-day ? he 
came very near knocking me down as I came in, like a colli- 
sion of express trains, as the Northern papers say. Oh ! I 
wish by the bye, we had railroads, Miss Harz ; one running 
past our gate ! I shouldn’t stay long at a time at Beausein- 
court, I assure you. But what makes you laugh so 
strangely ? You were pale enough when I came in.” 

“ Oh, some of Mr. Gregory’s nonsense. Yes, Madge, I 
wish we had a train passing our gate to-day ; I believe I 
should take wing at once. The wires work so discordantly 
in ‘ Lesdernier,’ these engineers have set us all crazy.” 

“Do you find Mr. Gregory interesting, Miss Harz?” 
very solemnly, and as one asking with authority. 

“Tolerably, — he is better than nobody — better than 
Crane and Collins and Duganne and the rest of those indige- 
nous youths, or even Yorke ; this is about the best I can say 
for him.” 

“ Oh, I think him quite fascinating ! ” with a relieved air ; 
“but you have seen so much more of the world than we 
have, that you are hard to please, of course. You even find 
it a bore to talk with Captain Wentworth, I perceive, and he 
is very agreeable. I think.” 

“ I am of your opinion, Madge. But I scarcely think it 
my place exactly, to seek Captain Wentworth’s society, 
under the circumstances. It is simply your duty, being at 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 271 

home, to entertain your wounded guest. But when school 
is over I am weary and need repose. ” 

“ I did not think of that ; besides we all think you are 
engaged, Miss Harz, you are so indifferent to gentlemen. 
Madame Favrand remarked this to mother.” 

“ She did me injustice Madge. I like all clever persons 
and amiable ones, without regard to sex. I should be sorry 
to discriminate otherwise. A dull woman is even worse to 
me than a dull man ; for the last I can escape from. * 1 like 
a child that cries/ said the Abbe Coreas ; ‘ it is carried 
away/ On this principle I prefer stupid men.” 

“ Did any one carry Gregory away, I wonder?” said 
Madge, looking around ; “he seemed to be in tears ! I do 
believe he has been making love to you, Miss Harz, and 
that Bertie was right,” eagerly. 

“ Nonsense, Madge ! you should not say such things. 
He would scarcely presume so far, and I fear I should laugh 
derisively in his face, were he to begin.” 

“ Or behind his back, as you did,” added Madge, pouting 
evident^. ** But I don’t know why I should care to know, 
I am sure,” she soliloquized ; “ Mr. Gregory is nothing to 
me,” patting her foot impatiently. 

“ And I hope may never be, Madge ; I don’t fancy that 
man somehow, I confess. He seems too old for his years,” 
I rejoined. 

“ But he is so fascinating, Miss Harz,” turning suddenly 
to me again. “ Oh ! you cannot think how much so, when 
he chooses. Such an accomplished complimenter I ” 

“ Flatterer, rather ! Beware, Madge ! Don’t lend ear to 
such serpents. Vernon is worth ten of Gregory ” 

“ Vernon ! why he is cut and dried, in comparison ! Greg- 
ory is charming company and witty as an Irishman, as 
father says. Not handsome, but with so much expression I ” 
“ He has diagonal eyes, like a Japanese, a head shaped 
like a cocoa-nut, yellow, uneven teeth, a sharp nose that 
runs to one side, a coarse mouth to the other, a retreating 
chin, a goatee beard cut in a point, and funnel-shaped ears. 
What could be uglier than this description, Madge, except 
the reality? Then his complexion is dingy, rather than 
dark, which would be infinitely preferable if clear, and his 
smile is at once broad and cunning.” 

Yet he is irresistible,” murmured Madge, “ that is, when 
he chooses to be. Such grace, such manners, such variety, 


272 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


such a voice, such a speaking eye, — no man ever had 
before, I verily believe. I am quite disinterested in saying 
all this, Miss Harz. I am indeed ! Mr. Gregory is nothing 
to me, and never can be — but a very agreeable beau for the 
season ! I am sure I am altogether too young to attract a 
man of the world like him — twenty-seven, if he is a day, 
and so fond of style and life ! Besides that 1 do not fancy 
him particularly.’ ’ 

“ I am glad to hear you say that ; he would not add to 
your happiness, I think, on nearer acquaintance. He is a 
person of ill-regulated tongue and temper both, I perceive, 
and those are very important considerations in matrimony.” 

“ Yes, yes indeed,” observed Madge, thoughtfully. 

“ Dissipated as Duganne is, I think him the better man of 
the two,” I continued. 

“ No doubt he is,” quoth Madge, with an expression of 
unconcealed delight which made me survey her for a moment 
earnestly. 

“I believe you like to hear me censure Mr. Gregory, 
Madge,” 1 said, sharply. 

She only laughed and kissed me a dozen times as if to 
relieve her embarrassment, whereupon, I too, was obliged to 
smile — having detected her pretty stratagem. 

When we were called to dinner, to my surprise Captain 
Wentworth entered with Gregory, leaning on a cane. Had 
we met on the day following, according to Bertie’s announce- 
ment, I should have been prepared, but now, the surprise 
was so sudden, that it unnerved me, and I could scarcely 
command mj^self sufficiently to congratulate him with others, 
on his reappearance in public. 

Colonel Lavigne seemed quite elated, and ordered more 

old Madeira,” in honor of the invalid and his aides. 

And where are Yorke and Vernon ? ” he asked, “ why 
did not they come too ? I like Vernon. He is a gentleman 
if a Yankee ! No offence to you, gentlemen, of course, who 
are Virginians, we discover. But you know that sort of 
thing is so rare.” 

“ And so is your beef, I am happy to observe,” said Greg- 
ory, with his usual impertinent tact, marking the cloud 
perhaps that crept over Captain Wentworth’s brow at the 
words of his host. “ Another slice if you please, Colonel 
Lavigne, rare and juicy. You see I eat fast ; but it is so 
long since I sat down to a Christian table, that I feed like a 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


273 


6avage. Vernon too is relapsing into a primitive condition 
for want of table implements, although as you say a Yankee 
gentleman that 1 rara avjs.’ ” 

“We will drink to Vernon, that is inclusively/ ’ said 
Colonel Lavigne, lifting his glass, and bowing courteously. 
“ Absent friends ; ” adding in his trite, old-fashioned way, 
as he set down his glass, “ a toast that suits everybody I 
believe.” After which generally directed remark, as is 
usual in such cases, there was an obstinate silence, during 
the continuance of which, a low and timid tap was heard at 
the dining-room door. Jura opened it quietly, but Colonel 
Lavigne turned to find out the intruder, who stood at his 
back by this time parleying with the waiter. 

“ Who is it Jura — who is it? Shut the door. The 
draught is disagreeable, and I thought the law was laid 
down on that head ; no intruders suffered at meals.” 

“ It is only little Cora, master,” inclining his head respect- 
fully, “ and she says please come ’megently, sir, de ole 
man is mighty bad agin, — mos dead dis time.” 

“ By Jove ! I wish he was quite dead, and then I should 
be suffered to eaf in peace,” rising as he spoke. “ The key 
of the medicine chest, my dear ; believe you have it. I 
must go and weigh out powders at once, for this old heathen, 
or Charon will catch him minus an ob'olus.” 

“Can’t you finish your dinner first, Colonel Lavigne? 
little Cora can wait.” 

“ But death will not, my dear, unfortunately. Old Jake 
is struggling with Azrael, no doubt, by this time. His 
attacks are sudden and dangerous.” 

“ An’ mammy say, please mistus, send her a drawin’ ob 
tea,” added the wee voice of little Cora, uplifted like a fife, 
who, with a shawl reaching to her heels and a gigantic black 
bonnet on her bead, evidently her mother’s, an ark-like and 
funereal affair of the past, stood fully revealed by this time, 
having glided inside of the door when Jura closed it. 

“ Sit still my dear, I will get everything this clamorous 
family need, myself,” said Colonel Lavigne, preparing to 
leave the room, followed by little Cora — walking with diffi- 
culty, and mincing in a pair of shoes, turned up at the toes 
like gondolas. She had evidently made an ambitious, if 
hasty toilet, before setting forth for the mansion house, on 
her errand in quest of aid for her ill grandfather. 

Colonel Lavigne came in again at the dessert and resumed 
his seat at the table. 

17 


274 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


“ It is a question with me,” he remarked somewhat peev- 
ishly, “ whether it would not be morally right to put old 
Jake to death, as Napoleon is said to have done his 
sick in Egypt, or at all events to let him die for want of 
medicines. His life is useless to himself and a nuisance to 
every one else. His own children are tired of him. Ho 
costs a great deal both for food and attendance, and his 
requisitions on my time and attention are preposterous. I 
can understand the feeling which actuated Henry the.Second, 
with regard to Thomas a-Becket whom he dispatched indi- 
rectly across the sea by wishing alone for his death. In 
the words of that monarch I exclaim, ' Is there no one who 
will rid me of old Jake ! ” and he gazed around him. 

Mr. Gregory laughed, but Captain Wentworth looked 
puzzled and grave rather than amused. 

“ You remember Rousseau’s problem, Colonel Lavigne,” 
he observed at last, “ which philosophers found it so diffi- 
cult to resolve, but which simpler men saw only one answer 
to, seek as they might for another solution ? ” 

“I have forgotten if I ever heard it,” was the reply. 
“ Refresh my memory, or instruct my ignorance as it may 
be, if not too troublesome.” 

“ The proposition was simply this, as I recollect it. 1 If 
by lifting the hand to the head, a mandarin in China, might 
be slain by his antipodes, who had never realized his exist- 
ence in any shape, and who might uninterruptedly enjoy his 
vast wealth as the consequence of such a mechanical motion, 
would it or would it not be murder ? ” 

There was a momentary silence, for the last words were 
impressively delivered, and the impression they made was 
that of universal conviction. 

Colonel Lavigne alone shook his head. “ The philoso- 
phers had the best of it,” he said slowly. “ It is a matter 
involving doubt, to say no more. There are very few of us 
who might not be tempted to enrich ourselves in so simple 
a fashion, I, for one” — 

“ Would not dare to so offend your God ! ” shouted Ber- 
tie Lavigne, and her tiny fist came down on the table with 
a force that made the glasses shiver. “ Oh, father, father ! 
what a lesson to teach your children — your slaves ! For 
shame sir, for shame ! you a parent and a master ! ” 

She had arisen now, and with clasped hands and tears 
streaming from her eyes, was standing by her father’s chair. 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


275 


her visage convulsed and pale, her slight form dilated 
into a presence and a power, in her strong passion. 

“ Leave the room, Bertie/' said her father, huskily ; “ you 
are possessed at times I believe. Go child, to your chain 
her, instantly, and without a remonstrance." 

She withdrew. The little scene was over as quickly as a 
pistol flash. I saw that Madame Lavigne and Captain 
Wentworth were greatly shocked, though from different 
reasons probably. But Colonel Lavigne regained his imper- 
turbability after a few moments, and, dropping the subject of 
discussion, continued to converse cheerfully until the dinner 
was ended. 

It is a strange feeling to reverently hold the clues of con- 
duct, that in the sight of others less enlightened, seems 
inconsistent, if not absurd. Nothing had ever touched me 
more than this bitter, passionate outburst on the part of 
that suffering child, hoarding her secret of anguish from 
all eyes, yet at times touched through its possession into 
agony unexplained and unendurable. 

The Spartan boy might have felt as she did, when the hid- 
den fox was gnawing at his vitals, and given way perhaps 
to a few outcries as little comprehended by those who heard 
and penetrated not the cause. 

Miss Edgworth in her ingenious story of “ Belinda " lets 
us into the interior of great suffering, by introducing us, 
through the mistake of her heroine, into the secret dressing- 
room of a fashionable woman, struggling with mortal disease. 
A cancer, with its hideous accessories. So that what 
seemed the retreat of frivolity at first, became in Belinda's 
eyes the refuge of heroism in the end ; and in this light I 
alone saw, or could see, the behavior of B vt-h? Lavigne. 


276 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


f }T was determined a few days later, on the part of his 
) hosts, that no farther opposition should be made to the 
j removal of Captain Wentworth to the Refuge* as his 

f health was rapidly improving, and as he earnestly 
desired to be where he could, without restraint, super- 
intend his aides and have them constantly about him. 
A day was set for his departure and his evacuation of 
the “den” of the lion of the establishment which he had 
been obliged very unwillingly to retain, on account of his 
inability to ascend a stairway ; Doctor Durand having, for 
reasons best known to himself, vetoed any effort of this kind. 

In the meantime he came constantly to the drawing-room, 
and whenever he found me there, attached himself as of old, 
much to my society, notwithstanding the frigid line of demar- 
cation I had drawn of late for his observance. 

As to Gregory, he evidently scarcely knew what to make 
of me or my behavior, at the same time courteous and care- 
less, and vainly tried to penetrate my secret. In truth I 
shall ever believe that my extreme indifference to this 
conceited individual, lay at the root of his so-called passion 
for me, a fancy so fatal to my peace, as it nearly proved. 
Men of his stamp cannot brook to be ignored in any way, 
and he must have seen from the beginning, that his boasted 
powers of fascination were absolutely at fault in my case 
and as far as I was concerned. A sense of the ridiculous too, 
had been excited in my breast, by his sudden explosion of 
baseless sentiment, which he had sagacity enough to per- 
ceive, and pride enough to resent. He had hesitated, 
evidently, as to how he should proceed* since the da}'- of 
his abrupt declaration, and had avoided me as much as 
possible on the principle of anticipating avoidance on my 
part. 

I remember the first evening on which he took notice of 
me again as a part of the goodly company of Beauseincourt. 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


277 


The young people had been playing forfeits — and it was 
Edward Yorke’s turn to pay a penalty in the shape of a reci- 
tation of some sort. In a spirit of boyish fun, he delivered 
himself on the spur of the moment of a quaint poem, that I 
recognized at once as an old acquaintance. 

Standing in the middle of the floor, with his hands pin- 
ioned to his side, like a timid school-boy, his feet turned in, 
his face drawn down into a most lugubrious semblance of 
earnestness, he declaimed the following verses, with a nasal 
twang purposely assumed, for our amusement : 


“ I wonder why by foul-mouthed men, 
Women so 'slaudered be, 

Since it is plainly evident 
They’re bettor far, than we. 

Why do the Muses every one 
Pictured as women be, 

If not to show, that they in art 
Do more excel than we ? 

Why do the gentle Charities 
Pictured as women be, 

If not to prove that they in them, 

Do more excel than we ? 

Why are the ” — 


Here the deliverer of this quaint morceau, scratched his 
flaxen head dubiously — either in real or affected embarrass- 
ment, — which found no time for spontaneous relief, for 
quick as a flash, Gregory struck in, glancing at me venge- 
fully as he did so, and emphasizing the italicized word, 


“ Why are the Furies , every one 
Pictured as women be, 

If not to show ” — 

“ You are quite out of your text, Mr. Gregory,” I inter- 
rupted coolly ; “ the poem is an old acquaintance of mine 
and your impromptu verse, is at war with its whole spirit.” 

“ I stand corrected Miss Harz,” he observed, rising and 
bowing profoundly. Then slowly approaching me, he sat 
quietly down beside me with a subjugated air, saying as he 
did so, “you have read everything I believe, and have the 
most astonishing memory ! Nature designed you for what 
you are, that is plain, an instructor of youth.” 

“ You could not pay me a greater compliment, Mr. Greg- 
ory. I have sometimes doubted until this moment, my 
fitness to be a teacher, even when accident has placed the 
rod in my hands.” 

“ Alas I what is it that you do not teach ? If you would 


278 


MIRIAMS MEMOIRS. 


only confine your lessons to the school-room now, it would 
be legitimate, but you come abroad to lay your wand of 
power on all men’s shoulders. Mine still smart.” 

“ Yours, fortunately, are very broad and stalwart, Mr. 
Gregory. I do not fear, I confess, to oppress them long with 
any rule of mine.” 

“ There was no question of rule you know, only of a rod.” 

“ I shall have to set you down as a humorist, after which 
I shall find you endurable perhaps. But odd people, I con- 
fess, are my aversion.” 

“ You resemble Napoleon in that respect,” he said ; “in 
that only, but I can trace your likeness to Rochefoucauld all 
the time, Miss Harz, in bitter apothegm.” 

“Yet Madame de Sevigne describes the author of ' Les 
Maximes,’ as a most amiable person. Kind to all about him, 
though sorely afflicted with gout. He wrote those maxims 
out of his brain, believe me, not his heart. I should like to 
be judged as charitably.” 

“ Then you must go elsewhere for judgment. But is it 
possible you have delved through old Sevigne’s letters ? I 
never could read one of them, after I found out she was a 
prude. Love-letters are the only ones women ever write 
well, I think. 1 acknowledge they excel there.” 

“ I have never had the pleasure of reading any feminine 
love-letters,” I observed demurely. 

“ What, not those of Heloise to Abelard ? Not Rousseau’s 
Julie to Emile ? Not the passionately beautiful letter of 
Julia to Bon Juan ? ” 

“ I speak of real, live love-letters, Mr. Gregory — such as 
came from a mortal woman’s pen,” I said, waiving his ques- 
tion. “ I am a stranger to such literature, I repeat.” 

“ Napoleon told Las Cases though, that he believed (and 
he always penetrated motives you know) that Madame de 
Sevigne had loved M. de Pompone, or was it Fouquet ? I 
forget which ; he did not believe in Platonic, disinterested 
friendship like that, between man and woman ; nor do 

“ It was like him to cherish such opinions.” 

“ You do not admire Napoleon, then ? Well, for my part 
I wonder that any woman should. You see he knew the 
sex perfectly — assigned it its true position rigidly. For 
instance in his well known reply to Madame de Stael’s 
absurd question. Bo you remember it ? ” 

“ You do me injustice when you assert that I do not 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


279 


admire Napoleon/’ I rejoined, ignoring purposely, his last 
remarks and question. “ I do admire him as a man of heroic 
courage and undoubted genius. A Greek of the old empire 
in many phases of his character ; even in his half-civilized 
consideration of women, of which you speak. And here we 
know the Greeks were wanting more than in all else. But 
I do not esteem Napoleon, nor consider him thoroughly 
great. He was petty, selfish, frivolous, vain, even when 
important issues influenced his motives. Then his conduct 
to Josephine ; what woman could forgive that ? ” 

** Oh, you misconceive Josephine altogether ! She was a 
very frail person, I imagine, and merely attached to him as a 
means of success. It was high time she should have found 
her level, when, in the pride of his ambition, her husband put 
her away. She died of sore throat, you remember, not of 
broken heart at all.” 

“I do remember! Now let us turn to Washington, by 
way of contrast. What is your estimate of him, Mr. 
Gregory ? I particularly wish to know.” 

11 A good, old bell-weather, who jumped first over the 
fence. That is almost the amount of the matter. The rest 
of the flock followed, of course, and the wolves were too 
slow for them. That is the whole history of the Revolution.” 

“ A degrading parallel truly.” 

11 Oh ! you are such a literalist. Washington was a very 
respectable mediocre man of course, and quite strategic, if 
•not decidedly courageous. But I never could place him for 
one moment on the same platform with Napoleon.” 

“ Nor I,” was the significant reply. “Yet it was not 
until lately that I recognized all the divinity of his genius.” 

“ And what was your open sesame ? ” 

11 The opinions of a thoughtful mind, expressed in words 
of fervid and earnest truth.” It gave me malicious pleasure 
to say these words. 

** What book of platitudes have you been perusing ? My 
copy-book informed me that ‘ Washington was a hero/ but 
it never added, ‘ also a divine genius ; ’ and great as was 
my confidence in that mentor of my childhood, I should not 
have believed it if it had. But you of course being a 
1 schoolmarm ’ ” — 

“ Lend implicit faith to its teachings,” I interrupted, 
smiling. ** Now what is a chain-carrier in the scale of 
humanity, that he should presume to taunt me about my 


280 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


vocation ? For that matter, Socrates and Plato were both 
teachers, and so were Aspasia and Ilypatia. ” 

“Yes, that is true. And could I be Pericles ” — 

“ But you cannot, ” I replied, coloring deeply at the 
license I had impulsively given him ; forgetting as I had 
done for the moment the life, in the intellect of Aspasia. 
“You can never be other than you are I fear, a very pre- 
sumptuous, volatile, mediocre man, with a bright mind and 
cold heart ; ” and I left him abruptly. 

The last day of Captain Wentworth’s proposed stay at 
Beauseincourt 1 I remember it well, that lovely day in the 
end of February — balmy as spring, bracing as autumn ; 
brighter than either had ever seemed to me in other regions. 
All the land was awake now with blossoms, and birds, and 
vernal expectancy. The yellow jessamine flung its long, 
golden wreaths over tree, and shrub, and arbor, indigenous 
as it is, and yet valued as an inmate of every garden and 
shrubbery in the South ; the only flower I know of that falls 
to the ground unwithered, like genius slain in its prime. The 
fittest and fairest emblem of sudden death we possess, 
which so often means only translation. 

The trumpet had been sounded at last, to awake the 
sleepers by the breath of Spring. Roses came trooping forth 
at her call, and violets, and jonquils, and hyacinths, made 
the earth we trod on fragrant, widely diffused as they were, 
almost to redundancy, in the grounds of Beauseincourt. 

“ We have gotten through the winter after all, pretty 
well, Madge, in spite of your gloomy predictions,” I said, 
as we walked up and down the wide avenue of the great 
vegetable garden, bordered by fig trees, white and purple, 
towards sunset, in which Uncle Quimbo at the head of a host 
of others was diligently plying his spade. “ And now this 
is spring in earnest ; your genial, affluent, Southern spring. 
How sweet the mould smells ! and yet how we all shrink 
from lying down beneath it,” I soliloquized. 

“ But the best of spring is, that dear Walter will be here 

,in less than a month, and we shall all be so happy then, 

rain or no rain. You will like him so much, Miss Harz.” 

“I have never doubted it, Madge,- since I heard Captain 
Wentworth, ” — I hesitated. I had not meant to quote 
from such a source ; “ praise his courage and humanity,” 
I continued, faintly. “ I like these qualities.” 

“ Ah, I thought that might make against Walter, as you 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


281 


seem so careless of Captain Wentworth’s opinions ordina- 
rily, as well as those of Mr. Gregory. You are hard to 
please, Miss Harz, yet you extolled Vernon to the skies, I 
remember, who is not the equal of either of those gentle- 
men, as far as I can judge, or even of little Yorke for mere 
smartness.” 

“ Vernon is an admirable young man, I think Madge. 
You know we all have our fancies, but 1 confess to a weak- 
ness for him, especially.” 

“Not brilliant though ! I idolize brilliancy, in whatever 
shape it appears ; lame, or blind, or deformed, it matters 
not.” 

“ The most brilliant youth I ever knew, was lame,” I 
rejoined. “1 wish you knew him, Madge,” with a sigh ; 
“ I wish I knew where he was ! He was my consolation 
for all ills in childhood.” 

“ I wish indeed you did, if he is a friend of yours, and bril- 
liant besides. Where is this * rara avis ’ now, Miss Harz ? ” 

“ Abroad, I suppose, receiving an education in Germany ; 
at least so I have heard.” “ Dead, for aught 1 know,” was 
the echo of my heart, a moment later. 

“ In Germany 1 That was where Captain Wentworth 
studied his profession ; I heard him sa}' so. He told mother 
that when he was a mere lad, he left an unhappy home, (his 
father was intemperate, I believe) to go before the mast. A 
gentleman goingto Russia on the same ship, to make public 
roads for the Emperor Nicholas, fancied him and took him 
on his staff as a little chain-bearer, I think he said. After- 
wards, becoming sincerely attached to him, ho placed him 
at school in Prussia, at his own expense. When he came 
back to the United States, his mother was dead, much to his 
disappointment; his father, poor and degraded, had died 
long before. He had hoped to support his mother’s decli- 
ning years out of his earnings, but his whole family had 
disappeared. There is but one person living in whose 
veins, to his knowledge, his blood flows, a niece or nephew, 
I forget which — very rich, he adds, and for this and some 
other reasons, unapproachable by him. Isn’t it a sad history, 
Miss Harz ? ” 

** Not very,” I answered carelessly; “rather a success- 
ful one I think. But self-made men are the happiest, I 
believe, after all, if not always the most agreeable.” 

“Miss Harz! I do believe you mean to be sarcastic! 


282 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


Ever since you have found that Wentworth and Gregory 
were Southern men, you have hated them both. Now that 
Yankee Vernon ! ” — 

“ The Esquimaux, as your mother considers him,” I in- 
terrupted. “ Well, well, dear Madge, I plead guilty, rather 
than contend. Have it your own way. But what in the 
world is Bertie peeping at over there ? ” 

“Oh, the hot beds. Her curiosity is unbounded, you 
know. But the odor is enough for me. Guano is not fra- 
grant ; ” and she tossed her pretty, sensitive retrousee nose 
in the air. “ There is Louey, Miss Harz, telegraphing. 
Mother wants me, I suppose as usual, just at the wrong 
time. Excuse me a moment,” and she left me hurriedly. 

I strolled leisurely along to join Bertie, who met me with 
uplifted hands and laughing eyes. 

“ What do you think father is raising in his hot-bed, as 
secret as the grave about it too, as though it enshrined 
some profound mystery ? ” 

“ Pineapples at least.” 

. “ Why nothing but poor little contemptible cant-el ope 

melons. First cousins to musks and pumpkins as they are ; 
and the poorest of cultivated fruits in my estimation. Even 
cucumbers are a thousand times better to my taste, on ac- 
count of the requisite vinegar.” 

She was in her very finest “ King Cambyses vein,” evi- 
dently, as she pursued gayly, — 

“ The dear old gentleman must be daft ! don't you think 
so ? If he would only wait till May, cantelopes would 
crawl all around him of their own accord.” 

“ My dear Bertie, an admirable detective was lost in you. 
But why will you put your nose into the affairs of your 
elders ? ” 

* “ My nose indeed, my eyes rather ! What do people go 
about for, if not to look ? What are eyes made for else ? 
If the old parrot himself had been near a hot-bed, mysteri- 
ously covered up, he would have peeped no doubt, and told 
about it too in his inflated way. Somewhat in this style, 
perhaps,” and she improvised, — 


Melons, mellifluous — many lobfed — mellow, 
There lay at lazy length, robust and yellow, 
Enough to craze the brain of a greedy fellow I ” 


“ That isn’t the least bit Shakespearian, Bertie, rather in 
Leigh Hunt’s style, I think, as far as parody can be.” 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


283 


She laughed merrily. “ You always defend the old 
parrot ! ” 

“ But seriously, Miss Harz, I have a great mind to pull 
every vine up by the roots, just to give father a useful 
lesson.” 

“ Your useful lessons had better come to a close, Bertie, 
before you offend your fatfier irretrievably,” I said, seriously. 
“He did not relish greatly the one you gave him before a 
dinner-table audience the other day, I saw very plainly ; 
he has looked upon you a little coldly ever since- 

“ And a little suspiciously for the first time ? It is strange, 
she mused, “ how very dull he is about some things, how 
sharp about others 1 I had a pair of scissors once, very 
much like his mind, with one dull and one sharp blade, and 
the consequence was, they hacked everything to pieces that 
they closed upon. But I am sorry to have grieved and 
offended him ; ” shaking her head. “ I could not help Tvhat 
1 said though, * for that way madness lies/ ” extending one 
hand and veiling her face with the other, I thought she 
pointed designedly towards Bellevue, but it may have been 
accidentally, after all. 

“ There comes your father, Bertie. Go and greet him 
pleasantly,” I suggested. 

She looked up, evidently intending to obey me. 

“ He has not seen us,” she said ; “ he is intent upon his 
hot-beds. See ! he is letting down the frame again, which 
I had propped open.” Adding, after a pause, as if some 
new conviction had suddenly flashed over her, “ My God ! 
such a dreadful idea ! It struck me like a knife; ” and she 
wreathed her arms about her head, and stood for a time in 
statuesque silence, like a Caryatid — then dropping them 
again, looked out eagerty once more in his direction, mur- 
muring audibly with clasped hands : “ See ! where he 
strides, shadow and all ! What a dismal figure of fate he 
presents to us ! How very considerate all at once he has 
become, of the tastes of others ! ” smiling bitterly. “ Fath- 
er, father ! it was not thus I thought of you once ; not 
thus ; ” in tones of poignant anguish. “Oh ! who will 
restore me to my lost opinion ? ” Tears were flowing down 
her face now. 

“ Bertie, Bertie ! ” and I shook her slightly. “ What 
possesses you ? ” 

“ I tell you I have been inside of the Blue-beard chamber, 


284 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


Miriam Monfort ; you never have ; how can you judge me 
then ? Sometimes I wish I too were an idiot, if only to for- 
get. Not like that horror over there,” indicating Bellevue 
by a motion of her hand ; " but a gentle, happy idiot, pleas- 
ant to look on, — there are such things, — sitting in the sun 
all day murmuring a monotonous tune, as the bees hum — 
babbling like a brook — caring foF nobody.” 

" Child, child, you distress, you alarm me! Let us go to 
our chamber for awhile ; I fear you have fever again. Doc- 
tor Durand ” — 

" Doctor Gandercap,” she interrupted, laughing bitterly. 
" ' My pulse as yours, doth temperately keep time, and 
makes as healthful music.’ Feel it, if you doubt me.” Then 
speaking hurriedly and low, " That old parrot knew every- 
thing, didn’t he? medicine and all ; and you are a kind of 
half-way physician yourself, you know ; a quack, clairvoy- 
ante, and all that, so grandfather Durand tells us.” 

We walked along in silence now. I myself, began at 
last, to tremble for Bertie’s reason — so frequent were these 
spells of late ; so constantly with her, evidently, the pres- 
ence of one fixed idea. 

‘'Do you know,” — she said," Miss Miriam,” pausing 
suddenly, and looking at me at last, with those seraphic 
eyes of hers, clear as aqua marine, and soft as morning glo- 
ries, when the right spirit possessed her, and gradually 
returning now to their rightful expression. 

" Do you know that I feel the coming of our fate as plainly 
as though its shadow fell above me ; as one looking on the 
ground, feels a cloud, sailing along in the heavens, though 
itself unseen?” Then, after a sorrowful pause — "Some- 
thing dark, and strange, is to happen soon at Beauseincourt ! 
Not to you, not to any stranger within our gates ; be not 
alarmed. But for ourselves, this doom stands ready. No ; 
I am not mistaken, I wish I were. I wish this fatal gift of 
second sight, were not my dower, as it has been, they 
tell me, that of others of our race. I would far rather be 
light-hearted and free from care, like the rest ; but there is 
one scape-goat always in large families, you know, and Prov- 
idence has selected me to lay its hands on, and send forth 
to the desert, for wise purposes, no doubt, though I shall 
never understand them, I suppose ; ” and she shook her 
head mournfully, while a strange, sorrowful smile wreathed 
her lips. "God never explains to his poor worms, you 
know ; his creatures of dust. Why doesn’t he, I wonder ? ” 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


285 


“To true faith this is not necessary, Bertie, and why 
should He condescend to unlock his mysteries for the 
skeptic ? ” 

“ Why indeed, unless He cares to convince ? ” she mused. 

I made no rejoinder. I had long since found the useless- 
ness of such discussions. 

“We are not worth the trouble, I suppose, ” she added. 
“ Let me tell you something,” she exclaimed, after a short 
silence, her eyes still fixed on space, though Her hand now 
firmly grasped my arm. “ The first Prosper Lavigne, the 
only son of that elegant Huguenot gentleman, whose pic- 
ture is in the string of family portraits in the hall up stairs. 
That old horror, I mean, with the eagle beak, the grisly 
beard, and his hand on the iron sword handle. He too, was 
a persecutor, Miss Harz ! He had a mad wife, (not our 
ancestress, by any means — no, no ; we are all sane to our fin- 
gers’ ends, you know, though my great grandfather cut his 
throat in a fit of the blues — a very good riddance, no 
doubt, but a second wife greatly younger than himself, who 
left no children) — and he locked her up in our schoolroom, 
and chained her there, and beat her, and starved her, they 
say, until at last he killed her ! Yes, that is the family 
legend. Cousin Celia Favrand, who is truth itself, told it to 
mother in my hearing, when I was a very little child, as 
established beyond a doubt in the minds of his posterity ; 
though in this lonely place, there was no strange eye to 
watch and report, and negroes, you know, never testify with 
us in court. It is illegal. Besides that, they are such liars 
and cowards ! But what tales the old attic could tell ! 
Some say she walks there yet ®f nights. I don’t know, I 
am sure ; I wish I did. I never heard her, though once I 
thought I saw her coming down the staircase. Now, you 
see we are reaping the consequences ; don’t you under- 
stand ? ‘ The sins of the father shall be visited on the 

children,’ the Prayer book says. That is how I apply this 
prophecy ! ” 

“ And this is your shadow, Bertie ! Banish it at once,” I 
said, infinitely relieved by the diversion of her fancy. 

“ I did not tell you so,” she rejoined, looking at me with 
kindling eyes and quivering lips. No, no indeed ! it lies far 
nearer at home-; ” pressing her hand to her heart, and again, 
after a few minutes of deep silence, she concealed her face, 
this time with both of her trembling hands. 


286 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


“ Bertie, ” I said, “ your mother’s health is delicate ; 
we must all guard her from care as far as we can, you 
among others. Your excitable behavior displeases and 
mortifies her. Captain Wentworth himself, your friend 
and admirer before, looked shocked the other day at your 
outburst at the dinner-table, and I thought Madame Lavigne 
would have fainted she turned so ashen pale.” 

“ Is it possible ? ” lowering her hands from her face and 
looking at me gravely, “ Oh, I am sorry ! I would not hurt 
my mother for anything in the world. There is so much 
before her still, so much to bear 1 ” 

Still that fatal idea of unavertible doom ; still that dark 
glance of prophesy ! 

“Command yourself, dear child, it will be for the good 
of all. And in making the effort for the sake of appearances , 
the mind will grow calm again. These moods are unworthy 
a girl of your sense and feeling.” 

“Are they? Help me to conquer them then, by your 
example and forbearance.” 

She said this, kissing my cheek and pressing my hand, and 
a moment afterwards we returned tranquilly together to tho 
house. 

Captain Wentworth was to proceed to the Refuge early 
in the morning, he informed us, and he begged for music as 
a parting grace. Marion and I sang and played as usual, 
but I was steel to his entreaties for “that song” again. 
“That old and antique song I heard last night,” as he ex- 
pressed it, referring to my Spanish melody. 

“No, I will never more sing that song. I believe it is 
too passionate,” I said, “ it does my calm soul injustice.” 

“You are right then,” he murmured, and turned away 
disappointed. “Right never to sing it more for me, at 
least.” 

Some game of chance at cards was introduced, and time 
was muddled away in this fashion, until the bed hour came, 
eleven at Beauseincourt, by one of the quaint, despotic 
rules of the master, who rivalled Procrustes in many of his 
ways. Cutting or stretching time even, to suit his inexor- 
able bedstead. 

At three o’clock in the morning I was awakened by a 
low, roaring noise in the roof, and the smell of smoke in the 
chamber, and opening the door that gave on the gallery, 
1 saw the back stairway, our peculiar property, in a blaze. 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS, 


287 


We were in the longer ell, as I have said, with a shingle 
roof above us, in no way connected with that of the princi- 
pal and higher building which was of slate. The gallery 
now presented our only means of escape. I wakened 
Bertie at once, and explained matters to her, as quickly and 
quietly as possible, and we went to work with trembling 
fingers to tie sheets together so as to let ourselves down 
securely, if the worst came. In the meantime the cries of 
Sylphy, who slept in our dressing-room, aroused the house- 
hold and a few minutes later the plantation engine with its 
hose attached to the cistern, was playing away on the ell 
we inhabited by the judicious directions of Colonel Lavigne. 

The stove in the pantry on which a tea-kettle had boiled, 
had been left burning when the servants retired, and by 
means of an imperfect flue had fired the roof, (we knew 
later), of the small, low ell, opposite to the higher and longer 
addition, in which we slept. It had made its way steadily 
downwards and across, following the woodwork, so that we 
were cut off* as by a bridge of flame from access to the great 
stairway of the main building, as well as the lesser. 

It is out of place certainly to revert to causes here, when 
results were still undecided ; for as yet no one had come to 
our deliverance, and we saw with consternation the small 
ell containing the closets and pantries, with its upper cham- 
bers, fall in, and cover the ground with its blazing frag- 
ments, before we succeeded with nervous fingers in tying 
our swathe of bed clothes to the railing of the portico. 

At the moment when Bertie was about to make the first 
venture (her heroism gave her this privilege), a ladder 
placed against the gallery, attracted our attention ; and 
scarcely a second later, as it seemed to us, Wentworth and 
Gregory stood safely beside us. 

I stood with my desk beneath my arm, Bertie with her 
treasured paint-box in hers, Sylphy bearing a pile of shawls 
and wrappings, when we were made conscious of other prep- 
aration for our rescue, and we were at once handed down 
| the ladder without a superfluous word, by our sure-footed 
guides, and soon found ourselves secure on terra firma. 
Colonel Lavigne, stepping forward from the line of water 
carriers, who were aiding the hose in its good work, waived 
us into the library, the nearest place of safety ; the way to 
the central building being obstructed by the still smoulder- 
ing remains of the pantry, on which, legions of bearers of 


288 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


buckets, like dusky imps, were employed in dashing water. 
The gamuts of the plantation were quite useful on this occa- 
sion, and acted their part of “ supes ” perfectly. 

; ‘They will know you are safe,” he said, “ which is all 
that is essential, just now. This wing is in no danger, and 
you might get dreadfully scorched in trying to pass the 
tiames. Come Gregory, leave the ladies to the care of the 
invalid, and help me work. Even Favrand is making him- 
self available to-night, for a wonder.” 

They went their ways, and while Sylphy was arranging 
us in wrappers and shawls, Captain Wentworth paced the 
gallery without ; the low window leading to which, was 
open. Suddenly 1 saw him enter through this opening pale 
as a ghost, stagger towards the couch, and before he 
reached it, fall ; and when Bertie and I rushing to him, 
simultaneously bent above him, we found the white matting 
of the floor on which he was lying, bathed with blood. The 
wound in his side was bleeding afresh, and his life perhaps 
depended on obtaining immediate assistance. But how to 
procure it ? Just then Major Favrand put his head in the 
window most opportunely. 

“ I am coming in here to rest,” he said, “ with your per- 
mission, ladies. I have already risked my life to save a 
barrel of flour for Louisa, and now she thinks me unreason- 
ble, because I will not plunge through the flames after a jar 
of jam 1 So, I strike for higher wages. But what's that on 
the floor ? Any one hurt ? W entworth ! by all that's sacred ! 
What ails him, Miss Harz ? Stand back, — let me lift him 
to the couch. Call Cimon, Bertie, to help me — there, at 
the step with my horse. Tell him to hitch Cyrus at the cis- 
tern, to the old bear pole you know, and hurry here. Your 
handkerchief, Miss Harz ; never mind, mine will answer 
every purpose. I merely want it to staunch the blood. 
Bertie, take the flask out of my pocket ; now pour a little 
between his lips. Steady, my child ! He will swallow pres- 
ently. Nonsense ! not dead at all, only insensible. Now 
Cimon, give us an easy hand good boy, that's your sort 
fellow ! Lay him down quietly. The couch is the better 
place of the two. Both bad enough though, for a gentleman 
like this, the noblest Roman of us all, Miss Harz, if he is a 
Yankee ! ” with tears in his voice, if not in his eyes. 

Bat still the crimson tide continued to well from his side, 
and still the spell of unconsciousness continued. 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


289 

r< He is dying, Major Favrand ; for God’s sake send some 
one for Doctor Durand/’ 1 urged desperately. 

“ Certainly, that is just what I am about to do. Cimon, 
jump on black Cyrus, and gallop over for Doctor Durand. 
Don’t kill the horse, if you can help it, but make it in an 
hour’s time at the farthest, at any cost. There ! be off my 
good fellow, every minute is important now. Miss Harz, 
make me a better compress than this. Fold a napkin if you 
have one. There, that will answer admirably 1 My God,” 
murmuring to himself, and striking his brow; “just as I 
thought all was going on so well ; but it is my infernal luck I 
To die at my ha»nds ! when everything was over, and life 
began to look fair to me again. It is too cruel ! ” and he 
ground his teeth audibly. “ Where is that sneaking Greg- 
ory ? ” he pursued. “ What is auy man’s house to him at a 
time like this ? ” and he glanced around. 

“He did not know of Captain Wentworth’s fteed, when 
he went out to assist in extiuguishing the fire ; he is not to 
blame at all. Do let me assist you, Major Favrand, Bertie 
too,” I faltered. “ We surely can do something.” 

“ Be more heroic then ! ” he commanded ; “ Stop whim- 
pering. Hold the light here, Bertie. Get me the laudanum, 
Miss Harz — lint — Peruvian bark — more bandages. You 
will find all there in the medicine chest, and there it sits in 
the corner — unlocked, fortunately and for a wonder, the 
key is in the lock I see, by some special order of Providence. 
I am holding his side very firmly now, and the bleeding is 
abating. That is right, Miss Harz,” as I dipped the lint in 
the tincture of Peruvian bark, and handed it to him, as I 
had seen Mr. Vernon do in a similar emergency. “Now 
the bandage — there! he is decidedly better,” drawing a 
long, relieved sigh, “ and Richard’s himself again. Yes, he 
is coming to ; opening his eyes, as I live ; and he might 
not like to see me so near him. Miss Harz, you, against 
whom he has no such grudge, probably, may come here in 
my place.” 

As docile as a child to the directions of one I had so 
lately esteemed an enemy, I came to do Major Favrand’s 
bidding. I took his place and, kneeling, pressed my hand 
above the wound firmly, as I had seen him do, while he re- 
treated into the shadow, very wisely perhaps. 

“ Water,” was the only word the sick man uttered, as his 
eyes unclosed for a moment, then drooped again in the lan* 
\ guor of deep debility, 
lb 


290 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


I raised his head gently, and placed the glass at his lips, 
and had the satisfaction to see him drink thirstily from the 
cup I held. 

“Ah, that is refreshing to a dying man! I do not see 
clearly though. Who are you, and what is all this ? ” 

“ I am Miriam Harz,” I answered, low ; “ you have been 
swooning.” 

“Oh, yes! I remember now, everything. The fire, the 
necessity, the ladder was too heavy, that was all. It has 
crushed me. But, thank God, you are safe ! my darling ! my 
darling ! ” 

And for a moment his eyes were fixed on me, recogniz- 
ingly now, it was evident. But again, as if exhausted, he 
sank away into languor and half unconsciousness, murmur- 
ing words that were incomprehensible even to the ear so 
strained to hear them. Suddenly he roused again, made an 
effort to rise, and sank back groping feebly about, as if 
blind or fainting. 

“ Where are you, darling? ” he asked. “ Give me your 
hand, let me keep it till I die for this is death ! That 
dear and gentle hand, that you never would have given me 
but for this. So cold, so cold. But it might have been all 
so different.” 

“He takes you for some one else,” whispered Major 
Favrand, who had again drawn near stealthily and on tiptoe. 
“ His sweetheart, or wife, perhaps, who knows ? He is de- 
lirious, that is plain. Oh, for Doctor Durand ! Why has 
he not wings ? My God ! how wretched I am, to be sure ! 
Such luck ! ” and again he smote his breast and literally tore 
his hair. 

“ Let me call you by your name at last, darling,” the 
sick man pursued, unconscious of any other presence. 
“Miriam, my Miriam, before we part forever! It was 
hard, yes, hard. All things are gray and dark now, yet I 
know that your face is near me, your dear hand still in 
mine. One word — one word, and I should die happy. 
Speak it, Miriam.” 

“ What shall I say to comfort you ? ” I murmured, bend- 
ing above him and choking with suppressed anguish. 

“ That you love me ! love me as I love you.” 

4 * Hear me then,” I answered, solemnly, “ I love you ! 
love you as you love me. Live for me then, I entreat you,” 
and 1 kissed his clammy brow. “ Oh, Wentworth, live 1 ” 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


291 


Major Favrand and all the rest of the world sank out of 
sight in that moment of intense emotion. I was alone in 
the universe with him I loved — and God. 

In another moment he lay before me, pulseless, breath- 
less, lifeless, chill as the corpse that lies in its coffin for 
friends to gaze on ere the grave receives it. My shrieks 
filled the room. Major Favrand drew near appalled, trying 
to comfort me. 

“He is dead,” I cried, “Oh! merciful Father, that he 
should die for me ! You have slain not one but two, Major 
Favrand. There lies the man I loved ! Does it rejoice you 
to hear it ? No, you need pour no cordials in his lips, 
never more to breathe, or speak, or live ! He is dead ; your 
work is done, and I am desolate.” 

“ If I thought so, I would blow out my own brains, I 
believe, if only to satisfy your sense of justice, your Shylock 
nature. But I protest it is only a swoon. Since I found he 
was not delirious, I have not been half so uneasy. See here, 
Wentworth, Wentworth ! old boy, dear old heart of oak, 
taste a little of this Cognac ; it was never known to fail. 
The distilled tears of all the women in the world are not 
equal to a sip of this elixir vitae ! There, that is right ! 
Now, another swallow. Don’t push me away, man, don’t; 
I’m the most miserable dog alive ! Only get well, and I’ll 
give you any chance you want, that is, if you regret throw- 
ing away your fire. That’s been troubling him ever since, 
no doubt,” nodding to me sagaciously. “ The folly of it ! 
Don’t sob so bitterly, don’t ! There is nothing bothers a 
man in such a struggle, like hysterics ! There, that’s right, 
be still. There’s a dear, good girl. See ! he looks around 
again, looking for you, of course, and I am nowhere again, or 
rather one too many,” glidingquietly away once more tipping 
back to say in the next moment : “ Call me if you need me, I 
shall not be far off. Out on the gallery only, for a sniff of 
fresh air, and to see how 'the fire engine works.” And he 
withdrew, with a delicacy that was inherent in his nature, in 
spite of his caprices. Nor did he ever afterwards, by word 
or sign, manifest any consciousness of the revelations made 
in his presence on this occasion. 

When Doctor Durand came at daylight, his patient was 
out of danger, though weak and exhausted, and condemned 
in consequence of this attack, to do penance on his bed for 
another week. 


292 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


Ten days later, just before he left to take up his tempo- 
rary abode at the Refuge, Captain Wentworth announced 
with my permission, our betrothal, to the household of Beau- 
seincourt, and to Major Favrand, personally, at my special 
request. 

It was not for this purpose alone however, that this gen- 
tleman was invited to the presence of the man he had so 
recently served, whatever injury he may previously have 
inflicted upon him. 

I had the satisfaction of seeing Captain Wentworth so far 
overcome the native stubbornness of his character, as to offer 
his hand to his quondam foe, with such expressions as be- 
came the occasion, and the man himself. Nor did he any 
longer refuse to make the reconciliation perfect that day 
over a joram of punch or claret, as Colonel Lavigne had 
proposed, and the whole affair was one of unmitigated satis- 
faction to all concerned. 

As forme, I had at first that feeling which those who have 
suffered deeply so often know ; a doubt as to whether 
the wing of the past, could ever cease to cast its haunting 
shadow over the present. I felt that I was too happy for 
permanence or my own deserts. But even this remnant of 
melancholy, or prescience, I succeeded in putting away at 
last, so as to realize my right to my portion of earth’s enjoy- 
ments. 

For a time all things seemed to smile in sympathy with my 
own felicity. Bertie was mercurially joyous in the reflection 
of my glad estate, and Major Favrand smiled and jested freely 
once more, as he had done in the days of our early acquaint- 
ance. 

Joys and sorrows go in troops, the old adage says. And 
as if to confirm the saying, all pleasant auguries were in 
force at that bright season. The crops promised well in the 
“ Lesdernier ” settlement, and aletter from Walter Lavigne, 
gave notice of his speedy return, to the joy of his family. 

The ell, with additions of Madame Lavigne’s suggesting, 
was soon completed, and once more filled to overflowing by 
means of Uncle Quimbo and his “lumber-bus,” and the still 
unshaken credit of her husband, with all imaginable house- 
hold stores. 

One thing alone, even money could not replace, nor any 
other agent, until time and nature chose again to work out 
their wondrous recuperative growth of slow perfection. The 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


293 


superb Augusta rose, that had so long adorned and sheltered 
the gallery, and which no frosts of winter ever approached 
in that climate, to mar and stint, had met with an unexpected 
enemy in the destroying flame. It was burnt to the root ; 
and we mourned it, as only a living thing is ever mourned. 
It was a daily theme of lamentation between Bertie and 
myself. 

“ My paint-box would have been nothing in comparison, 
I could have gotten another. But this rose has been grow- 
ing ten years, mother says, through sun and storm. Does 
it not seem ominous, Miss Harz ? Besides that, Walter 
loved it so much. I believe he planted it from a slip, when 
a child. How he will miss it.” 

“ Not half as much as you think, Bertie. People who lead 
a roving life, care little for home details like this. But a 
cheerful smile from his little sister’s eyes, he would miss, of 
course. You must guard against gloom this time, if you 
wish to see your brother happy.” 

“ It is all very delightful,” she rejoined evasively, “your 
engagement and his return. I was the only one in the house 
not surprised at your betrothal. Father held up his hands in 
mute amazement ; mother exclaimed, * Will wonders never 
cease?’ Marion and Madge were charmed, though aston- 
ished, and have taken you into favor again. They have 
secretly hated you, until now, ever since I told them their 
beaux were both in love with you I Well, I shall ever be- 
lieve Gregory was, though he is making up so meanly to 
Madge now ; for he don’t love her a bit. Such fine speeches ! 
Men don’t talk as he does when they are in dead earnest, do 
they? Wentworth, for instance. How little palaver he 
made. But I knew how it was, from the very first, with him. 
I knew it all the time, even when I made pretence about Miss 
Lurlie. This is the difference, though ; you have twice the 
heart that he has, and so he has the advantage. He will 
sap your very life, if you don’t take care, with the strength 
of your love for him. But he will be as well, and strong, and 
cool, and merry, as ever, and if you were to die to-morrow, 
he would just go to work, and submit ! and say * God’s 
will be done,’ in a hypocritical way, or perhaps utter that 
vulgar adage, which Marion says men are so fond of repeat- 
ing ; ' There are as good fish in the sea as ever were caught,’ 
and go straightway to work, to get another true love ” 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


2n 


“ But I do not mean to die, Bertie, and as you say he is 
getting well and strong, we shall be very happy, I think. ” 

“ You had better get married at once, then. Something 
might occur yet to separate you,” she hazarded, shaking 
her wise little prophetic head. 

“No, Bertie not while a shadow of mystery hangs about 
me. I have told him there was something I could not re- 
veal to him until shortly before my marriage day, which 
will be that of my majority. And he believes me and is 
willing to trust me, and wait six months if I like for my 
satisfaction.” 

“ What a patient sheep,” said Bertie, saucily, dancing 
out of the room, and laughing as she looked back. 

She loved above all things to level a Parthian dart, and 
her arrow of wit and mischief was never off the string, nor 
her bow of satire entirely unbent. Those are the spirits 
that so often go through life misapprehended. 


BOOK FIFTH. 


** He comes at last In sudden loneliness.** 


Byron, 


u For oh ! he stood beside me like my youth, 

Transformed for me the real to a dream, 

Clothing the palpable and the familiar 
With golden exhalations of the dawn.’* 

Death of Wallenstein. 


You find me here half stupid and half mad; 
It makes no part of my delight to search 
Into these things, much less to undergo 
Another’s scrutiny, but it so chances 
That I am led to trust my state to you.” 


" What is your purpose, Aureole ? ” 


“Oh! for purpose 
There is no lack of precedent,” 

Paracelsus. 


Why I can smile, and murder while I smile, 

And cry 4 content,’ to that which grieves my heart, 

And wet my cheek with artificial tears, 

And frame my face to all occasions.” 

Shakespeare. 

Hard deeds and godless have ta’en place, one erring 
Drags after it, the other, in close suit.” 

Coleridge. 


“ Oh, that an angel would descend from heaven 
And scoop for me the right, the uncorrupted, 

With a pure hand, from the pure fount of light.” 

Max Piccolomini. 

" The beautiful Is vanished, and returns not.” 

Wallenstein, 


BOOK FIFTH. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

t S is so frequently the case with regard to anxiously 
expected guests, Walter Lavigne came at last quite 
unexpectedly. 

f We were sitting at the tea-table, I remember, on 
that rainy March evening, made memorable by such 
advent, when he stood suddenly before us. 

Colonel Lavigne had finished his supper, and gone 
for a few moments to the library, to procure chessmen, I 
think, for a game with Mr. Gregory, — who played well, — 
when that bright and youthful presence gleamed upon us like 
an incarnation of sunshine. The father, I found, had not 
overrated the physical perfection of the son. He was truly 
an Adonis, for want of a better comparison. 

His mother and sisters were at once clinging closely about 
their Walter in true feminine fashion, with tender greetings, 
and welcomes, kisses, sobs, and smiles, congratulations, 
and even questions. It was a perfect stprm of rapture that 
died away at last into a lull of exhaustion, like all spasmodic 
excitements, whether of the outer or inner elements ; when 
suddenly the door opened, and Colonel Lavigne stalked in, 
with his ordinary solemnity. 

By an oversight not unusual at a time of such excitement, 
he had not been summoned, upon his son’s entrance amongst 
us, and there was a fresh surprise. In a moment, the two 
were locked in each other’s arms, as I had never seen men 
before, and as it made my heart leap to see them now. 
Mutely and quietly they then sat down, side by side, on a 
sofa, with hands still clasped, content, as it seemed, in the 

( 297 ) 


298 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


fulness and ecstasy of silence, which is golden, as philoso- 
phers have told us, while speech is merely silver. 

Finally, Walter said in a low voice, and as simply as a 
child, “ You are not looking well, father, how is this ? ” and 
again the fond arms were about the paternal neck. 

Still that sweet, solemn silence prevailed on the part of 
the elder man, though the father smiled on the son, now, as 
if for all answer, with that strange, slow, sweet, occasional 
smile of his, so irrelevant to his aspect, that it looked like a 
stray sunbeam on a dreary winter’s day. 

The wife of Colonel Lavigne would have started, had she 
known that her husband, the man of bronze, could not speak, 
for tears, and that all things else sank out of sight with him, 
in presence of his Master Passion ! For like many wiser 
men, he had set up this idol of clay, on its pedestal of mar- 
ble, and adored it blindly, without a misgiving as to the 
durability of the material of which it was constructed, or 
the accidents to which in its very moulding, it was incident. 

At last Colonel Lavigne said quietly, yet with the huski- 
ness of emotion still lingering in his voice, “ And you, on 
the contrary, are looking unusually well, Walter. Stronger, 
handsomer, than I ever saw you ! This is my young Her- 
cules, Miss Harz,” suddenly recovering himself, “ of whom 
1 was boasting to you one day, I belie.ve. Come, Walter, 
let me introduce you to this young lady ; the children’s 
governess, and Captain Wentworth’s betrothed ; Lieutenant 
Lavigne, Miss Harz.” 

And in his peculiarly explicit, yet formal manner, he 
went through the ceremony of introduction, bowing low, him- 
self, as if in sympathy with the newly acquainted parties, at 
the utterance of each successive name. 

“ Father is so old-fashioned, or so green,” whispered 
Madge. “ The idea of his making that announcement a part 
of the ceremony of introduction ! ” 

“ Oh, it was nothing, Madge, only the truth. I did not 
mind it at all. Your brother will like me the better probably, 
for knowing my true position.” 

“ It was a wise precaution,” said Gregory, who in his 
noiseless way, seemed everywhere at once, and always 
caught the last word how or wherever spoken, “ a neces- 
sary one perhaps to save poor Walter from a worse ship- 
wreck than he ever escaped at sea — that of his youthful 
affections.” 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


299 


“ One would think you had experience yourself of this 
kind,” said Madge, suspiciously. 

“ Miss Harz is too merciful for that,” was the careless 
rejoinder, “ she always keeps a buoy, bobbing about on the 
waves of her attractions, just to warn off unwary mariners 
from shoals and quicksands ; don’t you, Miss Harz ? ” eye- 
ing me confidently — defiantly. Then taking my fan, with 
j inimitable nonchalance, he fanned himself slowly while await- 
ing my reply. 

“ I try to do so, of course, but some will not be warned.” 
I replied deliberately. 

“ There now 1 ” exclaimed Madge, putting up her pretty 
lip in a pouting way she had, “ I knew how it was, long 
ago ! 1 shall never believe a word you say again, Mr. 

Gregory, never I ” and she turned away. 

“ Oh, she refers to Wentworth of course ; everybody 
knows she accepted him from sheer compassion, after sev- 
eral refusals. Didn’t you, Miss Harz ? ” fanning me coax- 
ingly. 

I could not help smiling at his auda.city, as I replied, — 

“ I shall not satisfy you on that head. You must form 
your own conclusions.” 

“ Honor bright, did you ever refuse me ? ” returning me 
my fan, broken, with a profound bow, but without an apol- 
ogy for its condition, “ answer now 1 When did you reject 
i me? ” 

“ Never ; who has accused me of such a want of sense or 
discretion, or suspected me of such a dearth of both good 
taste and compassion, which last you seem to think a gov- 
erning motive with me ? ” 

“ The idea has obtained in some way and in some quar- 
ters, evident^ ; ” he replied carelessly, glancing at Madge 
who still stood, with her face averted, turning the leaves of 
i a magazine. “You must refute it as you only can, you 
know.” 

“ I should not think the least bit the worse of you if she 
had,” said Madge, sharply, without lifting her face from 
her book, “ I should consider it a feather in your cap even, 

: to have shown so much taste, — only — only I detest 
story tellers 1 ” suppressing a sob. 

“ I have no reason to feel wounded at your remark,” 
bowing deferentially, smiling and glancing at me furtively, 
“since I am the embodiment of truth, if indeed truth ever 


300 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


had a body, and have always been considered as essentially 
matter of fact, as if I had risen from a well.” 

“ Oh, of course I believe what you say, since Miss Harz 
endorses it. Father says she does not know how to de- 
ceive, or she would if she could just for excitement’s sake. 
But I believe she would not even if she could ; she is as 
truthful” — pausing to think of a comparison, “as Jennie 
Deans herself.” Gazing affectionately in my face. 

“ Thank you, Madge. I cannot lay claim to such crys- 
talline veracity by any means ; I do not even defend it. I 
have my concealments, which are virtually deceptions, per- 
haps ; but I could not perpetrate a falsehood, 1 acknowl- 
edge, any more than I could steal or kill, and perhaps on the 
same principle.” 

“The idea being 'noblesse oblige,’ you know,” said Mr. 
Gregory, glancing at Colonel Lavigne derisively. “ By the 
bye, is that the crest of your house, Miss Madge ? I have 
taken up that idea.” 

“One of them,” she answered, haughtily, “we have 
several.” 

I was amused at her impulsive stateliness. 

“ And yor/ crest, Miss Harz ? Or have you one ? Two 
hearts with a dart through them, I suppose, symbolical of 
the name and your condition just now 1 ” 

“ One wrong — one right,” was my father’s crest, or one 
of them,” I said quietly* — proudly, perhaps, in turn. 

“ I saw that once over a Jew’s shop in Chatham street. 
One wrong, one right,” he rejoined audaciously, “apropos 
of coats, (not coats of arms, however,) it simply meant the 
vender was not a turn-coat or cheat, of course, but sold 
garments ready made — old clothes, probably, with one 
side ‘ wrong,’ the other 1 right,’ just as represented. Very 
ingenious application, was it not ? I forget the man’s name, 
however,” with a significant smile and bow, looking up as 
if trying to recall it, then glancing at me. “ Something” — 

“ Harz, of course ! That is your suggestion, I perceive. 
Don’t you remember me behind the counter as well ? A dark 
little girl, very watchful of the till ; you have cause to recol- 
lect my vigilance, I fancy.” 

“ I have indeed,” in a low voice that escaped every other 
ear than mine. “ I can never forget you, nor understand 
you either, I fear.” 

“ The one as easy as the other, you will find I am by no 
means inscrutable,” I answered carelessly. 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


301 


“ And you really love that man ? ” still in the same sup- 
pressed tones. 

Madge was engaged with her brother just now, much to 
Gregory’s relief, 1 saw. \ 

“ Your question is an injustice, Mr. Gregory, not to say 
an impertinence.” 

“ Oh, you are evasive.” 

“ Evasive ? no ! What right have you to question me at 
all ? Especially when my own act declares my sentiments ? 
It is you that are incomprehensible.” 

“ Very transparent, on the contrary,” he said, flushing, 
“ as 3 r ou have cause to know ; very impulsive even, on 
occasions. I am afraid” — 

“ Let bygones be bygones, Mr. Gregory ; ” I said, “ Be- 
lieve me, I have never referred in any way to a moment’s 
impulsive imprudence on your part ; that I would fain forget. 
No, not another word ! It is all ‘ sub rosa,’ and will ever 
remain so.” 

“ Ah 1 ” drawing a relieved sigh. “ But Wentworth will 
be my enemy, when he knows how I have estimated him. 
Make allowance for a little jealousy about that, however, 
should you see fit to repeat,” speaking with downcast eyes. 

“ That I shall hardly do,” I interrupted. “ Besides, I 
cannot remember that you attributed to him anything radi- 
cally wrong — all that man need care for with regard to the 
estimation of others.” 

“ So that too is settled. Well, we shall get on bravely 
yet. A little confidence of this kind cements friendship.” 

“ Confidence ! You confound terms, I think ! ” 

“ Well, concealment, then, collusion, anything you please. 
By the bye, what do you think of this new importation ? 
Green, greener, greenest. Which suits him best ? Posi- 
tive, comparative, or superlative? Handsome creature 
though, undoubtedly. Why the verdant one absolutely 
dropped briny tears on meeting with his mother and sisters. 

1 heard his sniffle resounding above the joyous acclamations 
of the females of his tribe. And the rencontre between father 
and son was in the real melodramatic, Henry-the-Fourth, 
French style, wasn’t it now ? I wish you could see father 
Gregory meet me after long absence (I have no mother). It’s 
' how are you, Luke ? ’ with one short grip of the hand, * how’s 
the pocket-book ? ’ as the hand is withdrawn leaving my 
fingers tingling, and that’s the end of the conference, unless 


302 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


the volume in question prove flaccid. There is, however, 
not even an offer to fill the vacuum in case of a state of 
collapse, but a dry rejoinder of this sort to such communi- 
cation. ( Get you back to work then, boy ! I have no 
time to waste on loiterers ; no money to bestow. What’s a 
young man worth without a full purse of his own earning 
in his pocket ? Be off — lose no more time,” ar ? c that’s the 
amount of the paternal hospitality, in the /all of the 
Gregorys.” 

“ I shall accuse you of envy, if you laugh at fimily affec- 
tion any more, after hearing this account,” I sai i H 

“ I am envious, I confess, when I see wome 1 ^throwing 
away embraces on men of their own blood, especially when 
I know some of them would prefer the stranger Within their 
gates ; ” and here he sneered. 

“ You are presumptuous, Mr. Gregory.” 

“ Cela depend,” he replied gayly. “There is no pre- 
sumption, is there, in aspiring to what is attainable ? ” 

“You shock, you offend me ! ” 

“ I can’t help it. Girls will be girls, you know, ail the 
world over, gentle and simple. 

I 

“ * Love rules the court, the camp, the grove, 

For love is heaven, and heaven is love.’ > 

I didn’t name any one especially, you remember, and 
shall not.” 

I turned away disgusted. 

“Poor Madge,” I thought, “how little you dream the 
truth ; but you shall be fortified if I can effect it against all 
farther humiliation from such a source. Still how to pro- 
ceed ? Ay, there’s the rub,” and I sat down, sadly enough, 
in a corner to mark how her bright eyes swept the circle, 
ever in quest of that imperturbable coxcomb ; how her 
color rose and came at his suave approach ; how smiles for- 
sook her lip when he talked with others and neglected her, 
as he frequently did for a purpose. How, in short, he held 
all the wires of her feelings and worked them mercilessly. 
They danced a quadrille, I remember, after we went to the 
drawing-room. I was the musician on the occasion, Bertie 
the prompter. 

“ Miss Harz,” she said, eagerly, “ did you ever see a 
Cobra Capello dancing ? I wish you had eyes in the back 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


303 

of your head you might observe one now. It is curious, 
really ; a sight that beats any at Barnum’s.” 

I turned to investigate, and recognized the idea at once, 
as I beheld Gregory advancing alone in the figure, self- 
poised, sinuous, spirited, with his peculiar soft, gliding 
motion and fixed, bright eye. It was the perfection of ser- 
p f "ace and serpent charm. It was the dancing of a 

chi 

.kes my blood creep,” said Bertie, “ I am afraid 
of hi ut he fascinates Madge ! She is like a bird on a 
bougi -- ir a black snake, he exerts such power over her 
when s by. If I were mother I would shut her up for a 
month the 1 Lumberbus,’ and have her driven up and 
down 1 all the time by Uncle Quimbo, so as to shake off 
his coils The idea of a girl not yet sixteen, carrying on a 
desperate flirtation. It is preposterous ! ” drawing herself 
up with great dignity, while I played on absently. 

“ You must not judge your sister so harshly ; let us hope 
it is nothing serious,” I added after a pause. 

“ Oh, but it is ! I saw him slip a note into her hand last 
niglY and about ten o’clock she went to the gallery door to 
meet n. I am sure of it. I was going up stairs on my 
way t bed as she opened the outer door, and there stood 
Greg«. v as large as life, if not larger, magnified in the 
mooni ,ht, you know. The next thing will be an elopement ! 
You’ll see,” nodding her sagacious head. “ Marion is twice 
as discreet. She loves Mr. Vernon dearly, that is plain to 
me ; but she would stoop to no secret measures. But mark 
me, she will never marry Duganne,” with a prophetic wave 
of her hand, “ never, while the stars shine.” 

Major Favrand interrupted us here, — 

“ You must have been weaving some of Bertie’s gossip 
into your music, Miss Harz, for you have played ‘Oh, its 
my delight,’ twice too often. We will change the figure 
now, with your consent. Give us ' Mi Pizzica mi Stimola,’ 
and the ‘ Market Chorus,’ for the next. Come, Bertie, 
come and dance to make up the set. You are not needed 
here ; besides, you are a very poor prompter.” 

And away they went together — the old, young man and 
the young, old maiden, both, by the bye (and to descend in 
the scale) unimpeachable dancers if nothing else. As to 
poor Duganne he hopped about like an elated kangaroo. 
Walter Lavigne footed it deftly as might have done Dan 


304 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


Apollo himself. There never was such dancing as his and 
Bertie’s since the days of Arcadian grace. Surely there 
was something Greek in that heroic strain of theirs.’ 

When I went to my seat, after the quadrille was over, 
Colonel Lavigne, to my surprise, came and sat beside me on 
the sofa and commenced conversation abruptly. 

“You have seen my son, Miss Harz, now tell me just 
what you think of him.” 

“Think! Oh, I scarcely know just yet what to think; 
but one thing is certain and requires no thought at: all. He 
is the handsomest young man I ever saw in my life, I may 
say with perfect sincerity, Colonel Lavigne. As to mere 
physical perfection, he rivals our ideas of Antinous, or 
Philip the Fair, or” — 

“ Alcibiades or Demetrius Poliorcetes that ancient reali- 
zation of beauty,” continued Colonel Lavigne. “ Nobody 
knows how Antinous really looked, you know. He was 
only an ideal, I fancy, though said to be a real, live Bythin- 
ian. But we have close descriptions of the Athenian orator 
and Macedonian king ; pictures even of their faces, mere 
charts we might better call them. It is a comfort, Miss 
Harz, believe me, a comfort as well as a glory to be beauti- 
ful ! The man that moves gracefully, moves easily as well 
and with pleasure to himself. It is awkward people, the 
imperfectly hung and constituted creatures of God’s hand, 
who have aching bones and stiffened joints, like mine. 
Ought not some allowance to be made for such unfortunates 
in every respect ? Physiologists tell us that where the skin 
and the eyes are clear, and the teeth are sound and white, 
the hair soft and rich, there is health as well as beauty, 
vigor, therefore enjoyment. Amiability and a host of pleas- 
ant consequences follow. It is we ugly, ungainly people at 
discord with nature, who are cross, sick, and miserable.” 

A very fallacious argument in some respects certainly, 
which I could have destroyed had I chosen to take up the 
weapons of discussion, never at best very agreeable to me, 
so I only said quietly, by way of entering a disclaimer, — 

“ One might be, nay often is, as happy and as bright with 
a snub nose as a straight one, it seems to me, or a wide 
mouth as a Cupid’s bow ; and we see as well with little 
eyes as large ones, if not better, and walk as weW with big 
feet as Chinese invisibilities, and” — 

“ Always in the opposition,” he interrupted, smiling. 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


305 


“ One would think you were frightful, instead of a very pretty 
woman in your way, to hear you defending homeliness, which 
I take as a personal compliment, however / 1 and he bowed. 
“ If it had not been for my very ugly face, I should 
have been master of Bellevue to-day ! My Cousin Celia was 
not enterprising enough to clamber over this promontory/ ’ 
touching his nose ; “ but don’t tell my wife that, for the 
world ; she would never forgive you nor me for the heresy. 
Favrand was esteemed a handsome young fellow, in those 
days, though you would scarcely believe it of him now, fat 
and fussy as he is. But I am better old than young, I 
fancy. Time sanctifies ruins, and mellows the harshness of 
hills and rocks, you know. I never knew but one woman 
magnanimous enough to get over my looks, and that was 
my wife, a pretty creature herself at one time, let me add/’ 
rubbing his long, lean hands together. “ Quite a belle was 
Adeline Benoit/’ 

“ A pretty woman yet,” I replied ; “ but I own I can see 
little resemblance to either one of you, in your son. Nor do 
I find him, as Captain Wentworth did, like Marion or Louey.” 

“ No, he is ‘ sui generis / as you say ; but his external 
recommendations are not one half with him. His disposition 
is the sweetest, sunniest, most affectionate, I have ever met 
with. There is no woman more tender, more devoted, more 
unselfish. He is courageous and gentle, impulsive and for- 
bearing, indulgent and honorable. The most delightful com- 
bination of all the elements that the wise Creator ever 
fashioned in form of man. You will find too, when you know 
him, that he has no vanity, no self-consciousness ; everything 
with him is natural, ingenuous, genial. He is not a very 
brilliant fellow, I confess, but has capacity enough to bear 
him on very respectably, with all his other attributes, 
besides a great deal of good sense and fine taste. Just the 
man to wear fortune gracefully, and make every one happy 
about him, if so endowed. And to fortune he has a right, 
yes, a right, Miss Harz. Do you believe in a higher law ? 
Well, I do, and if I were an absolute monarch, it should gov- 
ern. Ay, govern beyond appeal” — his voice fell here 
suddenly to low and broken tones. “ In such a case, when 
Celia Favrand is laid in her grave, I would consign her mon- 
ster, you know, to an asylum, and make Walter Lavigne 
heir of her possessions at once, instead of waiting ages or 
forfeiting everythingby dying of old age before that wretch. 
It is too bad as it stands ; too disgraceful.” 

19 


306 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


“ It is indeed / 1 I echoed faintly. 1 knew by his brain- 
sick eyes, and their warped pupils, that we were near the 
maelstrom now, and our sails must be shifted, to avoid its 
current if possible. 

“ My God! how I have suffered of late,” he continued, 
and he passed both hands through his shaggy, tawny gray 
hair, making it stand up fiercely, as he did so, and adding 
thus to his otherwise wild and wolfish expression. “ Words 
cannot speak my sensations,” after a pause, which I vainly 
strove to fill. “ Everything at stake, and hanging on a hair, 
and here comes this splendid boy of mine to crown my 
agony, with his confiding affection. We shall all be turned 
out soon, Miss Harz, unless something very decisive is 
done,” he added abruptly. 

“ 1 am grieved indeed, to hear you speak thus, Colonel 
Lavigne, but could not something decisive be done ? Time 
granted is much in assisting a man in difficulties like yours, 
to regain his feet. You have rich friends who must espouse 
your cause. For their own sakes even, Major and Madame 
Favrand, besides others whom I know not of, perhaps.” 

“ I would die, before 1 would owe an obligation to that 
ostentatious little man, that sweet, but senseless woman, 
wholly absorbed in self! Poor Celia, her career is almost 
ended though, I fear. I cannot blame her now. And what 
money she has saved, goes to her husband, of course. She 
has no right to divert a picayune of the principal. The leo- 
nine monster gets all that,” speaking low ; “ but you know 
already, how i^is all arranged. Ay ! offence so rank against 
right and decency, that it cries to heaven ! But as you say, 
one must submit to the decrees of fate, or be crushed in the 
struggle. It is inexorable! You taught me some very 
useful lessons that day, Miss Harz,” derisively. 

“ I am glad to have served you, Colonel Lavigne, believe 
me,” I answered quietly ; “ but I doubt the efficacy of my 
instructions. I cannot perceive that I made much impres- 
sion by preaching to one whose convictions were already 
settled. I find you a poor proselyte.” 

“ Come now, you judge me invidiously. You shall learn 
how submissive I am. But be discreet. This is a secret, so 
far,” laying his long, lithe finger on his exaggerated nose. “I 
am about to play the part of Agamemnon ; sacrifice my own 
child ; it is the old story. Iphigenia must go to the shades 
to propitiate the winds of Aulis,” he murmured low. “ We 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


307 


need them fair just now, to fill our sails for a fresh venture. 
Don’t you think,” whispering horribly, “it would be better 
to throw the monster overboard, lighten the ship in that 
way, rather than give our lamb to the wolf ? Maginnis is a 
shocking brute and vulgarian, it strikes me, yet I cannot see 
my way any better ; ” and here he laid his hand feebly to 
his brow, and shaded his lurid eyes. “ Better one than all, 
you know.” 

“ My God ! you are not thinking of that, Colonel Lavigne. 
It will destroy Marion ; it will kill her mother ; ” and in the 
agony of the moment, 1 laid my hand on his long, bony arm, 
and shook him slightly. “ Bear anything, first. Bank- 
ruptcy, poverty, what are they in comparison to the 
happiness of such a child, such a wife ? Assert your man- 
hood, Colonel Lavigne ; throw off this incubus, and begin 
the world anew.” 

“Hush, hush! they will hear you,” raising a warning 
hand, “ and no one must know of this till Walter is gone. 
Time enough then ! I have still three months wherein to 
decide. Three months ! I will make them three years in 
the fulness of their events. I shall cease to be my own 
man after that. I shall be a galley slave from that time 
forth, wearing the brand of ‘ Maginnis, his mark * visibly 
engraven ! And this is my all of life ! ” clasping his hands 
tragically. “ Well, well, we are all the slaves of circum- 
stance, the inexorable master,” uttered with a deep-drawn 
sigh and ghastly smile ; then casting his head down heavily 
on the arm of the sofa, he continued, “ Ruin, ruin ! It is a 
bitter word, Miss Harz, for a proud man to inscribe above 
his door-sill, ' Ruin within here ! Poverty, sorrow and 
shame ! ; What a sign to hang up over the hostelry of 
Beauseincourt ! Ha, ha, ha ! ” and he laughed low, and 
fiercely, and slowly, as baffled fiends might laugh. 

I was shocked and startled. Yet I could not bear to 
break away from him while this mood lasted, nor to call to 
it the attention of others. Happily we were on a sofa in a 
recess alone, and Madame Lavigne was wholly engaged with 
her son, the young ladies absorbed in conversing with a 
knot of gentlemen, Laura and Louey were at the centre- 
table playing an earnest game of dominoes, Bertie had re- 
tired early with a headache, and thus we were unobserved, 
by unusual accident. 

“ All this is very dull to you, young lady, very revolting 


303 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


perhaps ; bat bear with me for a season. 1 Out of the ful- 
ness of the heart the mouth speaketh,’ you know, the Scrip- 
tures say, to which you give full faith. Just now, there is 
none but you to whom I can open m} r heart disinterestedly. 
Wentworth, it is true, might be suggested, but a barrier 
has grown up between us, since these political differences 
came to the surface, which will never be broken down. I 
am not like Favrand ; I cannot blaze one moment and be 
friendly the next. The want of congeniality is ever a set- 
tled obstacle with me. Besides I am a little afraid of him 
sometimes, I confess ; he chills me with that austerity of 
his, with that fine polish.” 

“ 1 regret this for your own sake, Colonel Lavigne. Cap- 
tain Wentworth seems to me a very proper person to go to 
for counsel and consolation. He is so circumspect, so com- 
passionate and dispassionate all in one. Then whatever he 
says is genuine ; whatever he advises is just what he him- 
self would do. Such counsel is so rare.” 

11 1 know, I know ; still we have our preferences and 
prejudices in matters of this kind. Besides it is not advice 
1 seek. I am impelled to speak to you, I scarce know why, 
unless it is that you are familiarized to me by habit and 
yet sufficiently distinct not to be merged in my trouble, as 
any member of my own family necessarily would be. Madame 
Lavigne, of course, must not be harassed just now. My 
daughters have no experience ; my son — ah ! I must not 
share my burden with him, on his brief visit of affection, 
nor cloud his joyous youth with these mists of misery which 
my own act must dissipate. Yes, it has come to this : 
some one must be sacrificed to save the rest. It is a neces- 
sity, such as occurs sometimes on shipboard : men eat each 
other, even, you know. Poor Marion ! ” and he shook his 
head dolefully. “ I fear she must be our Jonas on this oc* 
casion.” 

“ And if I were Marion,” I said indignantly, “ I would 
not be sacrificed to propitiate ili-winds. I would be no 
ship’s Jonah. She can marry well to-morrow. She has the 
choice of Duganne or Vernon ; the latter, preferable, of 
course. You, sir, can certainly take care of Madame Lavigne 
and your younger children, in some respectable way, with 
talents and connections like yours. Walter, is already pro- 
vided for, and Madge and Bertie shall go with me, if you 
consent, — complete their education at my expense. After 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


300 


that, if I know them, they will be no burden to you, for they 
will be competent and proud to support themselves ! ” 

Again he slowly shook his shaggy and downcast head. 
“ I trust it may never come to that,” he murmured. “ Nay, 
It shall not , ‘ noblesse oblige ’ you know ; and yet, I thank 
you, Miss Harz,” speaking louder and very fast, “ thank 
you very sincerely. I feel that you are in earnest and most 
generous in your offer. But there are difficulties in the way, 
not now to be explained. Not that I doubt your ability at 
all, understand me ; and again I thank you.” And so say- 
ing, he rose in an embarassed way, and invited me formally 
to join a central group in which Major Favrand was enacting 
the role of “ raconteur,” an accomplishment in which he 
excelled, and a word for which we, in English, have no 
accurate rendition. 

There is nothing like bringing the practical, face to face 
with the theorist, to put him to flight, as I had just proved. 
Humility, was no part of the lesson Colonel Lavigne had set 
for himself, however humiliation might be involuntarily at 
work for him. 

Walter joined us soon afterwards, and I was convinced 
that his father understood his character perfectly, before our 
long conversation was ended. The truth, sweetness, and 
gayety of his manner and expression, were indeed as unmis- 
takable, as delightful, and I could not wonder at the pride 
in, and affection for him exhibited by his whole family, 
especially by this eccentric yet devoted father. 

He must have gone back to some knightly ancestor, as 
Captain Wentworth had suggested, for his attributes. His 
personal appearance was peculiar, and distinguished, as well 
as beautiful. He had the golden brown hair, and clear, violet 
blue eye of an Englishman or German of the highest type, 
though the eye-lashes that swept his cheek, and the brows 
that spanned those eyes, were black as night. This contrast 
in itself was singularly beautiful, and not inharmonious. 
His features were finely moulded, his mouth crimson and 
fresh as a girl’s, and sparkling with splendid teeth, dimples, 
and smiles. His complexion was fair and clear, brilliantly 
ruddy on occasions, but usually healthfully pale. The skin 
itself was as fine as ivory in the grain, and resisted exposure 
(as such material always does) to sun and storm. He pos- 
sessed his father’s height, with his mother’s accurate 
proportions, and something superior to either, in port and 


mrJAM'S MEMOIRS. 


810 

finish. Altogether, a more beautiful or radiant specimen of 
youthful manhood than Walter Lavigne, had never crossed 
my path or filled my artistic eye. 

We were good friends from the first. The very fact that 
I was the betrothed wife of the man he loved so well, was a 
passport to his affections. But this was not all I believe, 
that bound us in the sacred bonds of friendship. In those 
bright days we spent together, we found many points of 
union, one of which, on my part, could not be acknowledged. 
He had served with Norman Stanbury, knew and loved him 
well, and had heard him speak of his passion for Evelyn Erie, 
and his trust in her affection (all cast to the winds now, I 
knew, by her marriage and forgetfulness of him), in terms of 
unmeasured enthusiasm. 

I found that he had a tendency to cultivate the friendship 
of just men older than himself, common to those affectionate 
and feminine (though not effeminate) natures, which assured 
me of ‘his virtue and humility both. He had proved his 
manly courage in the estimation of Captain Wentworth, it 
may be remembered, in the Bay of Odessa, when he risked 
his life to save that of a simple seaman of whom he knew 
nothing, and without losing prestige after such an act could 
afford to appear dependent and docile. 

It was delightful to witness the affection those men of 
such different ages and views bore one another. Walter 
Lavigne hung on Captain Wentworth’s words as oracles, 
and shared all Vernon’s euthusiasm about him, forming in 
turn for this “ umbra ” of his friend’s a strong and sudden 
attachment. 

From Gregory he shrank instinctively, and I found that 
Madge was on her guard before him, for he could ill have 
brooked the idea of such a marriage for his sister ; far less 
the degradation of the capricious attentions of a person he 
intuitively despised. 

I was convinced of the frivolous nature of Gregory’s de- 
votion, when I found how he shunned contact with the 
young protector of his sister’s feelings and honor, and 
marked his shallow pretexts of late for avoiding Beausein- 
court. But Madge was satisfied in some way, through 
notes clandestinely conveyed to her, I feared, but by whom 
I could not conjecture. She considered Gregory a perse- 
cuted and injured man, a martyr, sacrificing his own inclina- 
tions to screen hei feelings and secure her happiness and 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


nt 

only waiting a favorable turn in the tide of fortune, to throw 
himself openly at her feet. In the meantime she lived on 
his occasional presence, and his pen and ink professions, be- 
came her bread of life. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 



-/HERE were mineral wells of noted efficacy not far 
[A from Beauseincourt, to which Doctor Durand or- 
dered Bertie for a fortnight in the early part of 
April for her health, which was perennially delicate 
at that season. It was settled that Walter and 
Marion were to accompany her. Sylphy was to go 
along to “take kear ob dc young ladies,” as she ex- 
pressed it, there being a settled conviction in the minds of 
devoted domestics in the South, that but for their ministry 
and oversight, the white race would speedily come to 
nought. 

Madge and I were left to comfort one another and Madame 
Lavigne as best we could and to keep Laura and Louey in 
order ; children in whose very sweetness lay strange 
strength to harass and disorganize. For of what avail is 
authority that can be defeated by a pair of twining arms 
and dewy lips full of the fresh fragrance of childhood ? 

Little girls ! The very words are enchanting to me. 
Boys by no means possess the same charm for my spirit. 
They are flat and common-place in comparison. Their sim- 
plicity is apt to degenerate into boobyism ; their gayety 
into turbulence ; their wit into impudence. Tops, hoops, 
marbles and fish-hooks are ignoble in comparison with the 
graceful and subtle toys sacred to girlish childhood. The 
images of wax, or porcelain, or moulded wood, skilfully 
painted and adorned with fragments of fine lace, and silk 
and muslin ; the tiny tea-set ; transparent as sea-shells ; the 
small work-boxes, with their fairy implements of steel and 
mother-of-pearl or ormolu, so daintily used and carefully 
cheiished ; the Liliputian baby-houses, with their wondrous 


312 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


appointments of kitchen, chamber, and drawing-room, gar- 
nished and kept with houswifely precision, all still have a 
hold on m t y fancy that I cannot put away with my woman- 
hood, as St. Paul affirms men do the toys of their infancy 1 
1 am not so sure of that, alter all, most reverend teacher. 

Men still bring each other to “ taw,” and roll fantastic 
hoops occasionally, alias hobbies, before them, until sud- 
denly they fall Hat and the game is over; and cast out 
baited hooks for simple fish to catch at ; and spin giddy 
tops of enterprise and transitory enthusiasm, which run down 
and lie quiescent when the feverish impulse has died away, 
as did the toy of boyhood ; and carry out, in divers ways, 
to the very end of their lives the sports of their infancy and 
childhood, just as women are said to do their vanities and 
vexations. 

Laura and Louey were essentially womanly in all their 
childish ways, and I sympathized with their recreations, as 
1 did with their studies, which first 1 found greatly to the 
advantage of my influence in regulating the last. 

Louey had a wonderful ear for verse. You might trace 
her through the house by her rythmic murmurs, sometimes 
recited, sometimes chanted, as the mood seized her. Her 
declamation was surprising for one so young. Laura in- 
clined more to mathematics, music, and the languages. As 
to Bertie, we all knew by this time that her penchant was 
decidedly for “ Shakespeare and the musical glasses,” for 
as desultory as the conversations thus described by John- 
son’s “ inspired idiot,” were her inclinations, that idiot 
whose slightest sayings charm us yet, while the wise plati- 
tudes of his master, have degenerated into common-place 
before the increased enlightenment of mankind. For genius 
is like sea-water, salt wherever we may dip it, and ever free 
frominsipidity ; and, like that, originality will keep through 
ages, but learning alone waxes stale when it has ceased to 
be wonderful. Every educated man knows now nearly as 
much as Johnson alone once knew, the “ literary leviathan,” 
as men of his own time called him. Goldsmith was but a 
little pilot-fish in those days floating in the wake of the great 
sea-monster. For moral energ} r will take the lead of genius 
itself in the conduct of life, while life endures, and in this 
we know how sorely deficient that child of whim and fancy 
was ; nor can we find, seek as we may, a grander type of 
man with all his faults, than was the inveterate old talker, 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


313 


tea-drinker, sloven and grumbler, book-worm, pedant, ped- 
agogue, and monarchist, Doctor Samuel Johnson! A di- 
gression here, coutrary to all good intentions 1 

There are passages in his journal to me, more touching 
than all the sentimentalities of Sterne or La Martine, or the 
theories of Rousseau. 

The flesh-and-blood strife of spirit with matter, of the worm 
with the demigod, of 'the creature with his infirmities, all 
.laid in deepest confidence and humility at the very feet of 
his Creator, in utter unconsciousness of a possible public ! 
Truly, the ostrich burying his head in the sands ! What 
dignity like to virtue, even in its dishabille, or a pure soul, 
in its utter nakedness. 

Peace be his ! and when the end comes, may we see him 
face to face, rejoice in the touch of his rough, benevolent 
hand and teach him in turn, who taught so much to others, 
the strange discoveries that have enlarged the sphere of 
humanity since he went to rest, despite his credulous 
incredulity. 

“ If you could only see what a poor figure you cut,” he 
said, it may be remembered, to the gentleman who described 
to him the earthquake at Lisbon and its consequences, “ you 
■would stop trying to impose falsehoods on honest men,” or 
words to that elfect. 

Yet he half believed in the Cock-Lane ghost, and trembled 
at his unconscious infringement of the fast of Lent ; so terri- 
ble a penalty to his peculiar organization ! 

What would he say to the report of a newly arrived 
spirit in his peculiar sphere, who should tell him of the 
steam-engine, the telegraph, the universal march of mind 7 
Nay, the spiritual medium-call so akin to his Cock-Lane 
ghost ; and as yet so imperfectly investigated ? 

Is it likely your Goldy would listen with interest, embrace 
the theories comprehendingly, and be called a blockhead 
for his pains — for his was genius which looked into the life 
of things with the eye of intuition and which belongs, 
therefore, to no peculiar time or place ? 

But Doctor Johnson, who represented the age in which he 
lived, alone, and was the embodiment of ability, not genius, 
would rise, no doubt, in an incredulous rage, and storm at 
the bearer of such information, in Paradise itself, nay, thrust 
him thence, if possible. A truce to irrelevance. 

I missed my little room-mate inexpressibly, and Laura, a 


014 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


staid child of ten years old, poorly replaced her. Madge 
kept Louey in her chamber to comfort her, during Marion’s 
absence. Thus the house was very quiet in this division of a 
confederacy that managed to make itself felt when associ- 
ated in the shape of all manner of merry noises. Laura’s 
weakness, however, took the shape of an accordeon, which 
she pulled at from morning till night, absolutely dragging 
from its unwilling vitals, such agonizing melodies as Jean 
de Navarre might have perpetrated at the bidding of her 
unfeeling father when Ilenry the Fourth was born, if we 
may believe old chronicles, rather than feminine experience. 

1 have an unusual antipathy to all machine music, from a 
hand-organ up, with the sole exception of the highest order 
of musical boxes, with their fair} 7 , tinkling trills and rippling, 
brook-like murmurs, that always remind me of pigmy pianos, 
very perfectly played on by fairies, or fantastic apes. Had the 
music of the spheres been ground out by the angels, it 
could not have moved me deeply ; and it is reasonable to 
suppose that it must have been purely mechanical, if it ever 
existed at all, a sort of grand Calliope performance, in ac- 
cordance with mathematical laws. An instrument must 
have a soul behind it, to be worth a straw in my estimation 
and it is doubtful to me whether the accordeon be not a 
soul-punisher, as well as an ear-torturer ; the wail of an 
imprisoned “ ame damnee ” seems so distinct in its weird 
groanings, its droning symphonies. • 

To escape from Laura’s oft-repeated long-drawn “Draw 
the sword of Scotland,” 1 went one day to the parlor, 
hoping to enjoy an hour’s quiet on one of the cushioned 
sofas. The room was darkened, as it usually was at the hour 
of noon, and the hall leading to it was also closed and dim, 
so that when 1 passed lightly through the last in order to 
reach the drawing-room, I startled its occupants with my 
unexpected presence. 

A tall and slender form rose from the shadowed sofa in 
the recess, as I approached, and a hand was stretched forth 
gropingly in greeting. At the same time I heard the voice 
of Madge from the deep chair hard by, in a fluttered tone, 
that did not escape my practised ear, or fail to arouse my 
suspicions. 

“ Miss Ilarz, do sit on the sofa by Mr. Gregory. He is 
just making a little morning call.” 

“ So I perceive, in spite of the shadows which effectually 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


315 


conceal faces, but still reveal outlines. Keep your seat, Mr. 
Gregory ; 1 came with a book, supposing the parlor unoc- 
cupied. I will have a little more light, if you please, and 
sit near this window. Do not let me disturb you, 1 beg.” 
Then after a pause, “ Madge, does Madame Lavigne know 
that Mr Gregory is here ? ” opening the blind very deliber- 
ately. 

“ No, I did not think it worth while to notify her, as she 
seldom comes down stairs until evening, except at meals, 
you know, of late. I would have sent for you, had 1 not 
supposed you were engaged. You keep your room so 
closely, usually, between school hours,” with a faint simper. 

“ And would now have done so, but for Laura’s accordeon. 
Paganini’s father’s soul, imprisoned in his violin they say, 
was nothing to it. But it gives her such pleasure to play 
on the gallery by m t y room that I cannot bear to check her. 
So 1 came away, rather than do this, with my fascinating 
volume, which will engross me, I fear, to the exclusion 
even of your society,” inclining my head slightly to both of 
them, as I spoke. 

“ What arc you reading, Miss Ilarz ? ” asked Mr. Greg- 
ory, in a low tone of voice, that implied distinctly, “ I wish 
you and your book a thousand miles away.” 

“ Eugene Aram,” I answered ; '‘strangely enough, I have 
never met with it before. Have you read it, Mr. Greg- 
ory ? ” 

“ Yes, I read it in the North, when it first came out, some 
years ago. It is a poor affair, 1 think,” very sententiously. 

“ I cannot agree with you. It is full of concentrated 
power, it seems to me.” 

** Bulwer is' pretty well played out, I suppose, for there 
are evidences of failure about him, already.” 

“ I feel on the contrary that he has not yet reached his 
zenith, by any means. That he has still much greater work 
to do, than he has done. He is a man whose soul will grow 
with years ; outstrip his intellect itself at last, which is gigan- 
tic. This is all he wants to perfect him.” 

“ Do you separate soul from mind then, Miss Ilarz? I 
confess I cannot understand that idea at all,” supercil- 
iously. “ I cannot descend to such puerilities ” 

“ Nor can I explain it. But I feel the distinction. A 
person may have a great soul, with a moderate understand- 
ing, I believe, and indifferent culture ; and possess a won- 


316 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


der'ful mind, ability, talent, attainment, and not soul enough 
to be worth the saving ! That is strong language, Mr. 
Gregory, but you now know what I mean,” and I looked at 
him fixedly. 

“ Lord Chestefield was right, ” he muttered in a contemp- 
tuous tone, “when he asserted that there never was a 
woman who could reason.’ ’ 

“ What does mere assertion amount to in any case ? ” I 
asked contemptuously in turn ; adding, after a pause, 
“* would you like an illustration of my theory, Mr. Greg- 
ory? Example is the next thing to reason, you know; 
even more self-evident indeed. I know a case in point, and 
so do you, perhaps ; shall we compare notes ? ” 

“ Oh, 1 suppose you would give Byron or Napoleon, I 
know your opinion of both ; but we see with such different 
eyes, Miss Harz, you and I.” 

“ We do, indeed. But I find I shall never be able to 
read here, in this tide of controversy. Do you stay to 
dinner, Mr. Gregory ? If not, I will say good morning and 
seek a refuge elsewhere.” 

“No, he will not stay to dinner,” said Madge, eagerly, 
“ he promised Mr. Vernon ” — 

“ Oh, that is sufficient,/ I interrupted, then pausing a 
moment, I added gravely, “ Mr. Gregory, I shall be pleased 
to see you alone for a few moments when you call again. I 
have a little business with you, which it may be just as well 
to settle as soon as possible.” 

“ I am at your service, Miss Ilarz ; command me at any 
time; now, if you will,” rising respectfully. “ I expect, 
though, to return this evening to Beauseincourt wdth Cap- 
tain Wentworth.” 

“ This evening will do in that case. I have but little to 
say, only a request to make and shall not monopolize you 
long. Will you not bring Mr. Vernon with you ? Ask him 
from me to come this evening. It is so long since I have 
seen him. I shall esteem it a favor.” 

I felt that in Marion’s absence there could be no objec- 
tion made to this invitation of mine on the part of Madame 
Lavigne, and I knew how solitary the poor fellow was of 
evenings, when his companions left him to the Refuge and 
its screech-owls. 

“I will deliver your message punctually, Miss H trz.” re- 
plied Mr. Gregory, ceremoniously, and thus I left them. 

A few moments later, Madge joined me. 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


317 


“ Miss Miriam/, she said, anxiously, “ I have reasons for 
wishing that Mr. Gregory’s visit here to-day may not be 
mentioned to the family. Promise me you will not.” 

“ What reasons have you, Madge ? No very good ones, 
I fear,” shaking my head, sorrowfully. 

She covered her face with her hands. 

“ It is better than going out in the woods to meet him, 
is it not ?” she said, resolutely, looking up suddenly, her 
face and neck crimson. “ If he cannot come here, I will 
go there, I am determined ! ” speaking defiantly, with ex- 
tended hands. This outburst was totally unexpected. 

“ Margaret Lavigne, you surprise me! Would you in- 
deed be guilty of such impropriety?” 

“Yes, if the tyrannical interference of others be per- 
mitted. My happiness is at stake, and at any cost, I will 
see Mr. Gregory.” 

“ I am so grieved to hear this ! I have feared it though, 
for sometime. Has your mother then, forbidden you to 
receive his visits ? ” 

“ Father has, which is something even more serious. He 
went to Mauriceville to-day, and I took advantage of his 
absence to — to — let him come.. The truth will out, you see, 
but that is all. I declare to you, this is all, Miss Miriam.” 

“ Was this call then an appointment, Madge ? ” 

“ Why should you ask me, Miss Harz ? What can it 
matter to you whether I receive Mr. Gregory casually or 
make an appointment ? ” 

“ Only this, dear Madge ; one shows coincidence on your 
part, the other leaves it in doubt. You must not entangle 
yourself with this man, my child, he is not worthy of you 
or he would ask you to do nothing clandestine. He knows 
your feelings well enough by this time to approach your 
father openly on the subject. He has behaved very ill, I 
think.” 

“ And this is what you have to say to him ? ” 

I will not deny it. I shall give him my views sincerely ; 
I shall then have done but my duty.” 

“ Since Walter came, everything is changed, every one 
has turned against me ! Even you, Miss Harz, that I al- 
ways thought my friend,” (sobbing). “ I feel myself perse- 
cuted, forsaken” (sobs). “There is but one person on 
earth” (sighs and sobs), “one person who* lo-loves me, and 
he — he is a target for the scorn and hate of the whole family,” 


318 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


then suddenly — in some swift change of mood, clench- 
ing her hand and shaking it in the air — “ I wont bear 
it — I’ll elope if they don’t take care ! I’ll never give him 
up, never, never, never ! ” reiterating’ the last word in the 
wildest hysterical excitement. “ Walter Lavigne has proved 
himself a deceitful viper ! It is every bi-bi-bit his doing ” 
sobbing convulsively), “ and I wish the grave contained 
unhappy me.” 

Of course this tempest had to have its way, before I could 
venture to interpose again. Madge had cast herself down 
on the couch and gave way to a passion of tears, and very 
gradually indeed, the storm subsided and a low, intermit- 
ting whimpering and sniffing succeeded the first violent 
paroxysm and finally died away altogether. When all was 
calm again, I ventured to renew the s^lbject of discussion. 

“ Madge, I ask you as a disinterested friend, are you or 
not engaged to Mr. Gregory ? ” 

“ Not exactly, Miss Harz, but I expect to be.” 

“ Has he said nothing to you of marriage ? ” 

“ Oh ! he is too poor, and I am too young to think of that 
yet. He will 1 come forward ,’ after a while — that is his 
very expression ; and in the meantime he begs me to have 
confidence in him and keep his counsel. He does not want 
the matter talked of at all.” 

“ This will never do, Madge. You are compromising 
yourself deeply with a stranger. You must be more pru- 
dent, my dear girl, or you will lose the respect of your 
friends. Promise me to see Mr. Gregory alone, no more, 
until he can ‘come forward,’ as he calls it, openly.” 

“ Don’t speak of his visit here to-day, then ; on that con- 
dition” — she hesitated, — 

“Well, Madge?” 

“ I will agree to see him no more at present, except in 
the presence of others. Yours at least, I mean, for the next 
three months.” 

“ Agreed. You are a girl of spirit and principle, I know. 
I shall trust you ; ” and I kissed her cheek. 

Her heart was relieved by this determination I saw, for 
she threw herself in my arms and wept silently for a little 
while, then looked up cheerfully again and smiled in my 
face, placing h^ hand in mine as a mute pledge. 

She was very pretty sometimes, when her features, some- 
what too small and undecided, usually, were lit up with 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


319 


expression. Beautiful as Marion undeniably was, I pre- 
ferred the face of the younger sister for a constancy. She 
was a fair compromise between the erratic brilliancy of 
Bertie and the conventional calm of Marion ; the “juste 
milieu ” which is always most satisfactory. Altogether 
Madge was an attractive and most lovable girl, full of 
sweetness, gayety, and intelligence. 

“ That evening Captain Wentworth came, accompanied 
by both of his aides. Yernon looked dispirited, I saw at 
once, in Marion’s absence ; Gregory out of humor ; Captain 
Wentworth happier and handsomer, I thought, than 1 had 
ever seen him. There was but one cloud now on my 
horizon. This I would try and disperse. 

While the latter conversed with Madame Lavigne, with 
whom he was again in high favor, and Vernon played at 
ecarte with Madge, I withdrew to a distant sofa with Mr. 
Gregory, whose moody brow and sullen eye attested his 
unwillingness to attend me. 

Mr. Gregory,” I began, “ 1 have thought for some time 
I would take advantage of my privileges here and ask you 
some leading questions about a dear little friend of mine 
just now, somewhat unduly under your influence. You are 
paying Madge very decided attentions, though not very 
open ones. What are your intentions ? ” 

“ Really, Miss Harz, I am not prepared to answer such 
questions from such a source. Miss Margaret Lavigne, 
suffer me to remind you, has a mother, a father, and brother 
quite able and willing, I suppose, to protect her. This in- 
novation is extraordinary. Or perhaps the young lady her- 
self has authorized this proceeding ? ” 

“ Your suggestion is altogether erroneous. Margaret 
Lavigne is superior to any conspiracy or manoeuvre of the 
kind. Her only fault, as far as you are concerned, is being 
too magnanimous. She has, as you astutely observe, a 
mother, in delicate health, a father, greatly harassed by his 
own affairs, a brother, on a brief visit to his family, not sup- 
posed to be occupied in observing side play (for I perceive 
you are very wary of falling under his notice) ; and I, who 
although a stranger, in some sort occupy a somewhat re- 
sponsible position in the household of Beauseincourt, have 
thought it best to speak, thus quietly to you, before farther 
attention should be pointed to your proceedings. A cause 
of pain to others as this must prove. 


320 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


“ I warn you resolutely, Mr. Gregory, to desist from 
your clandestine attentions to this young girl, and to ‘ come 
forward’ at once with regard to the matter on hand or let it 
drop entirely. I use your own expression, I believe, in 
making this suggestion. You must not, shall not trifle with 
Margaret Lavigne while I can lift a warning voice to save 
her or point a Anger towards her defender.” 

‘'Captain Wentworth, I suppose!” he observed sneer- 
ingly. 

“No, sir, not Captain Wentworth. This is no concern 
of his — need never be. I shall not even communicate 
with him on the subject. But unless you declare your in- 
tentions to me at once with regard to Margaret Lavigne, I 
shall deem it my imperative duty to warn her father and 
brother of your course, and leave to them the settlement of 
their family honor.” 

“You are very determined, Madam, very exacting, I 
must say. Were Miss Lavigne your sister instead of your 
pupil” — 

“ I should act differently, I acknowledge,” I interrupted, 
with blazing eyes. “ I should tear her from your presence 
as I would free a rose from the touch of a poison-vine or a 
bird from the subtle power of a serpent. I should use bolt, 
and bar, and key, if needful, to relieve her from your un- 
profitable presence. I should command you, at your peril, 
to approach her no more, and enforce my penalty ‘ sans 
merci.’ In such a case as that you have imagined, there 
should be no conditions affixed to your intentions, no possi- 
ble compromise suggested. Ours would simply be war ‘ a 
l’outrance.’ ” 

“ What have I done, Miss Harz, to forfeit your respect, to 
gain your emnity to this point ? ” he asked, bitterly, falter- 
ingly. 

“ Bone ? One act alone suffices as an example. You in- 
duced Madge to meet you alone at night, when you knew 
the family to be occupied with cards and conversation, and 
unobservant of her movements. You have written to her, 
clandestinely ; you approach her surreptitiously; you post- 
pone your proposal indefinitely. Is this fair, is this manly, 
is it honorable? You are a man of the world, she an inex- 
perienced school-girl, singularly innocent and confiding. 
Common justice demands an explanation.” 

“ You shall have it,” he said, haughtily, “ though it is not 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


321 


to you it is due. T mean no injury to the young person in 
question. 1 cannot marry yet ; should the fancy endure on 
both sides, not otherwise, 1 shall claim her some day as my 
wile. Yet it is a privilege 1 would willingly surrender , in 
view of a loftier aim, a hope I no longer dare indulge, a 
passion enduring as the sun ! You. understand me This 
is poor substitution at best; why should you grudge it? 
Let me conduct matters in my own way ; all will be made 
clear at last.” 

‘‘No, Mr. Gregory, you must cither declare yourself 
openly and speak with Margaret’s parents at once, or quit 
‘ Lesdernier.’ You have your option. The rest I leave to 
Walter Lavigne.” After a pause, I added, eying him reso- 
lutely and folding my arms, “ My part in this affair is ended 
here.” 

“ Let us compromise,” he said, slowly, “ I see you are 
determined. I agree then to your proposition ; I will come 
here no more until I see my way clearly, or only when in- 
vited by the heads of the house. I have an engagement 
in this vicinity that I cannot forfeit without pecuniary loss 
such as I am ill able to sustain. Let this matter rest and 
you shall have nothing more to complain of. Captain 
Wentworth has requested me to be his groomsman in 
August. Try me until then and let what has passed re- 
main quiet between us two. You are right, 1 suppose, 
after all.” 

“ I am glad to find you reasonable,” I answered, “ and I 
frankly accept your compromise. I have spoken with 
Madge, and convinced her of the folly and impropriety of 
her course, I think. Now nothing remains but to carry 
out these promises and good resolutions on either side.” 

I rose from the sofa well pleased at such a result. 

“ She, too, has promised then? ” he asked eagerly, “ tell 
me what her agreement is.” 

“ Yes, she is in bonds for three months’ submission to 
my counsels. By that time, you will have determined, I 
trust, either to cut the Gordian knot of your % difficulties or 
to look matters fully in the face.” 

“ 1 do not fear to face the music,” he said, doggedly, 
“ Favrand understands and appreciates me, I fancy, if none 
of the rest here do. He who represents the family honor, 
at least, it seems. The Mars of this establishment.” 

“ Walter Lavignc is quite able to dispense with his inter- 
20 


322 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


ference,” I replied, quietly, to his sneer. “ His courage 
has been proven to Captain Wentworth’s satisfaction.” 

“ Ah ! that is enough for you, certainly I ” he exclaimed. 

“ Let us drop this matter now, and discuss it no more ; ” 
I rejoined. “ It is a delicate one, involving both happiness 
and honor. Should you remain true to your declaration, I 
shall feel rebuked, Mr. Gregory, for having mistrusted you 
As it is, we are again friends, as the word goes, I hope.” 

“ Friends at least,” he said, coldly. 

“ I use the word in its most general sense,” I rejoined. 
“For Captain Wentworth’s sake alone, I wish to esteem 
you, if possible. You are so closely linked together in as- 
sociation and interest that I can but hope I have done you 
injustice, Mr. Gregory.” 

He rose reluctantly and we joined the tete-a-tete (rather than 
interrupted it) between Captain Wentworth and Madame 
Lavigne. Later Major Favrand and Colonel Lavigne came 
in together from Mauriceville, with papers, books and local 
news. And a cheerful family supper concluded the evening 
so inauspiciously commenced. 

Madge was never gayer than on this occasion. Her 
spirits overflowed like a generous bumper of sparkling wine. 
It was evidently a relief to her true nature to be done with 
shams and concealments. Gregory, too, was singularly 
brilliant. I had never seen him appear to greater advan- 
tage than on this occasion ; and the general mirth was 
sometimes quite as uproarious as good breeding ever suffers 
it to be. 

As we went upstairs, I heard Louey, who had been al- 
lowed to sit up later than usual on this occasion as her 
sister’s room-mate, murmuring one of her poetic measures 
iu her peculiar fashion of soliloquy. 

“What is it now, Louey?” I asked. “Is it still 
* The Blind Boy’s Petition,’ or ‘ The Angel of the Rose,’ 
or ' The Mushroom Girl ; ’ what are you repeating this 
time ? Not ‘ Little Barbara Lethwait ’ again ? ” 

“No, only 'Tiger, tiger, burning bright,’ ” she replied, 
“ I always think of it when I see Mr. Gregory.” 

“ Where did you learn it, Louey ? I never heard of such 
a piece before. Let us have it by all means,” said Madge. 

“ Oh, it is so long ; I learned it out of one of father’s big 
black books filled with pictures. There is a tiger above 
this piece, with bloody claws, oh I so terrible I (I believe 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


323 


Bertie painted it one day,) tearing a fawn.” And before 
we separated for the night the child delivered herself of this 
strange morceau, which I afterwards found attributed to the 
painter, Blake (the Shelley of artists), and as applied by her 
to Mr. Gregory. I give it here, singular as was this appli- 
cation. 

“ Tiger, tiger, burning bright, 

In the forests of the night, 

What immortal hand and eye 
Framed thy wondrous symmetry f 

“ In what distant deeps or skies 
Burned that fire within thine eyes ? 

On wbat wings dared he aspire, 

What the hand dared seize the fire? 

“ And what shoulder and what art, 

Could twist the sinews of thy heart? 

When thy heart began to beat, 

What dread hand formed thy dread feet! 

(These last words spoken with extreme awe, which set 
Madge off in a twitter of suppressed mirth.) 

“ What the hammer, what the chain, 

Knit thy strength and forged thy brain ? 

What the anvil, what dread grasp 
Dared thy doadly terrors clasp ? 

“ When the stars threw down their spears 
And watered he iven with their tears, 

Did he smile his work to see ? 

Did He who made the lamb, make thee ? ” 

I thought Madge would have died laughing at this singu- 
lar application of a singular poem to Mr. Gregory. One 
that few children would have fancied. 

“ Poor Mr. Gregory,” she said at last, wiping her eyes 
that had overflowed, from merriment this time. What a 
fearful impression he makes on some simple minds to be 
sure ! How was it he struck you as so tigerish, Louey ? 
lie is very lamblike, I think, on the contrary.” 

“ I did not say he ‘ struck ’ me at all,” drawing herself 
up indignantly, little literalist that she was, “ I only 
said, he always reminded me of that piece, particularly 
1 Tiger, tiger, burning bright/ at the beginning ; then about 
the ‘ dread feet/ Sister Madge.” 

“ Louey, you are crazy ! That is the most absurd ex- 
pression I ever heard of in the whole course of my life. How 
can any tame creature have 1 dread feet ? 1 As to Mr. Greg- 
ory, he has very nice, long, narrow feet, cased in beautiful 


324 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


shoes, always, and with an instep almost as high as Ber- 
tie’s.” 

Still the child shook her head solemnly. 

“ He seems to me to have ‘ dread feet/ ” she said, “ they 
come and go so softly, and they are so limber, like his 
hands. That is the way with the tiger, the book says.” 

Madge sat for a moment surveying Louey. 

“ Miss Harz, did you ever see such a family of oddities 
as ours in the course of your whole life, from father, 
down?” she said at last. “Don’t you think that show- 
man, Barnum, in New York, could make a fortune carrying 
us round as 1 The Huguenot Exiles ? ’ Do write a book 
about us and put us every one in, Bertie at the head. 
Make Walter (our handsome brother), your hero, of course. 
Dear old Walter ! I am so sorry to have spoken crossly 
of him to-day. He is only fastidious, I know, and makes 
the mistake of thinking all of his poor little plain, poverty- 
pinched sisters, sovereign princesses, only to be approached 
on bended knee 1 ” 

“No, Madge, he simply regards them as ladies, bred and 
born, and demands that they shall be honored by all as 
such. But let me tell you at once, that Mr. Gregory agrees 
to your terms, and I think the better of him for it.” 

“ So do I, Miss Harz,” mournfully. 

“ A little ordeal of this kind, Madge, is very salutary for 
future happiness sometimes. Have patience, dear, all will 
still go well, I trust,” and leaning forward I kissed her 
brow. 

Her eyes filled, she bent down her head. 

“But Laura and Louey, I see, are sleepy. Good-night, 
good-night, dear Madge,” and there were embraces inter- 
changed and we parted for the night. 

, Ah, never, never more might peace or rest so perfect 
reign at Beauseincourt, as descended above its roof on that 
balmy, starry eve of spring! Fate leads us blindfold at 
nightfall to the edge of the abyss of the morrow, and we 
know not what one step may bring to pass ! 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


325 


CHAPTER XIX. 



RECOLLECT the eventful morning well, that suc- 
ceeded that happy evening, a clear and breezy one 
early in April, with every tree alive with birds, every 
shrub and vine bright with odorous blossoms, and 
filmy webs, gemmed with dew, stretching like veils 
over grassplots, and verbena-beds, and violet patches, 
as if to shield them from the fast-approaching, fiery 


sun. 

I had awakened at dawn after a night disturbed by 
dreams and nervous fancies, and witnessed the conflict of 
the waning moon and rising sun as they met on the threshold 
of the day, the saddest spectacle to me, I scarce know why, 
that nature presents to the eye and heart in all her varied re- 
pertoire. To return to bed and sleep was impossible after 
such a sight and the sensations it awakened. I bethought 
me of the book I had left unfinished the day before as a re- 
source against ennui. I resolved to throw on my wrapper 
and go forth in quest of a pleasant nook to read it in, until 
the time to think of breakfast and school duties should sim- 
ultaneously arrive. 

■ As I descended the stairs, a sudden wish to see Bellevue 
and its lovely refreshing fountains gilded by the rays of the 
rising sun, took possession of me. Espying Ossian bound- 
ing t6 and fro in the yard (across which little Sip was lazily 
creeping with a pair of boots dangling from his arm, whose 
idiosyncrasy of length and gauntness it was difficult to mis- 
take) I determined to make that noble brute, as I had often 
done before, the companion of my ramble, as well as daunt- 
less protector. 

I had left my book on a table in the library, lying face 
downwards, it was a careless thing to do, though the 
binding was indifferent and the paper poor, of the novels of 
those days ; yet I should have chided one of my pupils for 
such a fault, therefore thrice inexcusable in me, and I re- 


326 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


bilked myself for inconsistency as I crossed the gallery and 
made on my way sage resolutions for my future govern- 
ment. The book was precisely in the same place in which 
I had left it, I saw from the staircase as I descended. It lay 
on a table near the door which stood open so as to reveal a 
portion of the interior of the room to my view, as 1 paused 
on the central platform and looked down. There, too, (I 
could not be mistaken although his back was towards me) 
stood Colonel Lavigne near the mantel shelf, busily engaged 
in scooping out the seeds from a cantelope melon, the aro- 
matic fragrance of which filled the room and was very appe- 
tizing as I approached the door, an approach which did not 
disturb him in the least, absorbed as he apparently was in 
this very matter of fact occupation. 

Not caring to attract his notice I lifted the book softly 
from the table on which it lay, perceiving as I did so that 
he stretched forth his hand to the mantel shelf and took 
from it a small phial of white powder, a portion of the con- 
tents of which he sprinkled upon the cut melon, slowly 
and carefully corking the bottle thereafter and placing it his 
vest pocket. So seeing I fled away bewildered. 

The proceeding seemed strange until I reflected that this 
phial might contain sugar or salt, equally in use, I knew, as 
a preparatory addition to this fruit, by those who fancy na- 
ture can be thus improved. I had not suspected him of 
gourmandise before, with all of his specialties. I saw now 
th^t he had carefully tended the hot-bed that contained the 
melons, for the gratification of his own peculiar palate and 
not for the sake of others as Bertie had fancied ; he was 
even less philanthropic it seemed than she imagined. 

Ten minutes later I had forgotten the very existence of 
Colonel Lavigne, absorbed as I was, in the contemplation 
of the enchanting spectacle presented by Bellevue, the 
snow-white, stately mansion with its surrounding shrubbery 
and lofty magnolia trees in full and magnificent blow, re- 
lieved by the column of sparkling water, that, after rising to 
a height of thirty feet, fell in a graceful shower of pris- 
matic jewels back into its marble basin, dashing its foaming 
spray over the figures couched beneath it as it did so, and 
thus lending them a strange, phantomlike vitality. 

I had never seen Bellevue since the day on which I had 
met Colonel Lavigne by the plank enclosure, and beheld the 
frightful creature on whom all this beauty was wasted. 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


327 


But now I paused by the iron railing in spellbound admira- 
tion of the lovely, fairy-like domain and dwelling, lying so 
obscurely apart from all others, that it reminded one of 
those palaces described in the Oriental romances, which the 
Prince Incognita always chances on so opportunely in the 
wilderness. The place to my senses was ever like a vision. 

Immediately opposite the iron gate of entrance, long 
closed with its lost or missing keys, of which I have before 
spoken, and which Bertie, it may be remembered, had fan- 
cied she had seen standing open on one occasion (a gate 
somewhat higher than the fence but otherwise undistin- 
guishable from it), was a tangled bower, belonging to the 
grounds of Beauseincourt in which occurred one of those 
old, moss-grown, stone benches that here and there tempted 
the wanderer to repose in that domain. 

The dusty, sunny road ran between this nook and the 
grounds of Bellevue, about half way between the two, and 
the view from the intensely shadowed place across this pass 
way was singularly sweet and suggestive. I had just drawn 
myself up, squirrel fashion, on the stone bench, somewhat 
dubious of placing my feet in the long, rank, and it might 
be, reptile-haunted grass beneath, and leaning back against 
the arm of the settle, had composed myself to read Eugene 
Aram, a book recommended to my notice by Colonel La- 
vigne himself, in a most comfortable attitude, when I became 
aware that Ossian had forsaken me. 

Five minutes later, while my eyes still roved in quest of 
the dog, his master passed, as swiftly and silently as a 
shadow, along the sunny road, dressed for hunting, in his 
suit of gray velveteen as I had before beheld him in the self- 
same spot, his game-pouch slung from his shoulders, appar- 
ently well-filled already, and his gun lying as usual in the 
hollow of his arm. 

To my amazement he paused at the iron gate, and after 
looking carefully around him, drew a key forth from his 
pocket, fitted it in the rusty lock and pushing back one of 
its leaves entered the grounds. A moment later I heard 
the long, low, partridge call, that had so strangely stirred 
the incubus before, and rising to my feet impulsively, be- 
held him leaning against the railing, throwing out morsels of 
cantelope from his game-bag, as I have seen countrywomen 
scatter corn to their poultry from a contrivance similarly 
suspended. No, I could not be mistaken! Crouching at 


328 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


bis feet was a small, female figure, eagerly groping in the 
grass for the morsels he threw out and greedily devouring 
them 1 I observed them preathlessly. 

At this crisis Ossian came bounding back along the road 
from his chase of a rabbit, probably, and suddenly paused 
before his master, forgetting, greatly to my relief, the newer 
in the older allegiance. Colonel Lavigne perceiving him, 
looked anxiously around and came out of the enclosure, 
closing the gate after him ; but so suddenly and nervously, 
that the key, loosened by the jar occasioned by the clinking 
latch, fell in the grass ; the long, thick, stubble of that 
region. After a few moments spent in impatient search, it 
was temporarily at least, abandoned to its concealment by 
its possessor, who swiftly departed as he came. Colonel 
Lavigne was gone, almost as speedily as he had come, and 
with the same shadowy silence ; and with him had disap- 
peared Ossian, so that 1 once more found myself alone, but 
scarcely in a condition for self counsel or action of any kind. 

The report of a gun at a safe distance first roused me 
from my stupor. With a lightning flash came conviction 
of the meaning of this singular scene, and that in the 
library, and that impulse which with me was ever coinci- 
dent with emergency, nerved me to the fulfilment of a re- 
pulsive, and it might be, dangerous duty. At any risk I 
must, I felt, do what could be done to save the unconscious 
victim of so much perfidy and dark design, from her im- 
pending fate. 

In another moment my hand was on the latch of the gate. 
Scarcely daring to look before me, I pushed it open and 
entering the enclosure began hastily to^grope for and gather 
up the fragments of cantelope and cast them one by one as 
1 found them, across the fence into the palmetto patch with- 
out. Thus employed I nearly stumbled over the prostrate 
form oi the old negro woman I remembered to have seen, 
with her patchwork, on guard before, whose swollen coun- 
tenance and loud, sterturous breathing, now bore witness 
of her condition — drugged to insensibility ! Beside her in 
the shape of a black glass flask, such as negroes usually 
carry, lay the evidences of her own weakness and the turpi- 
tude of another. That other. Whom ? All this was not 
long after sunrise, at which time only, be it remarked, Col- 
onel Lavigne had gratuitously informed me that this poor 
wretch was permitted, because of its eastern exposure, to 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 329 

come to the front of the mansion and bask in the sun’s early 
rays, secure at such season from observation. 

I knew that the monster I had before seen, was close be- 
side me, as 1 re song lit my task, observing me narrowly per- 
haps, with every instinct awakened by appetite ; but I per- 
severed with averted face, in gathering up the fragments 
of what must have been several severed melons, until at- 
tracted by the growling and mumbling noises she made, I 
became aware that she was already biting those she held in 
her hands and evidently rejoicing over them in herfatuitous 
fashion. 

Then I turned and again beheld that sickening sight, the 
lion head on the human shoulders, glaring upon me like a 
dreadful mockery of carnival or a painted dream of Fuseli’s. 
But I could not hesitate. Life and death were at stake and 
the diviner impulse overcame the mortal one ; that intuition 
of the intention of the Deity which impels all who love him 
to try and do his will, however repugnant to human inclina- 
tions, or uncertain of success. 

I snatched the slightly bitten morsels from the hands of 
the wretched effigy, and hurled them far away while still 
continuing my search for more, and turning determinedly 
from the phantasmagoria (as it seems to me in remem- 
brance) of that revolting spectacle, too hideous for realiza- 
tion, even in memory. 

I had nearly completed my task, when with the alacrity 
of a cat, the thing called Marcelline suddenly sprang upon 
me and I saw the loathsome aspect close to mine and met 
the glare of the infuriated animal eyes within a few inches 
of my own. I closed my eyes, while a faint sickness over- 
came me, like that of a coming swoon, from the reality of 
which I was saved perhaps, by the fixing of her sharp, white 
teeth in my hand, thrilling me as they almost met, with un- 
speakable agony amd horror. 

I succeeded in removing the loathsome jaw (not without 
difficulty, however), and thrusting the wretch aside, I seized 
a piece of melon which I had dropt during her attack, and 
which she caught at wildly as I passed. Then I pushed 
open the iron gate, and staggered forth just as the dog came 
bounding joyously through it, leaving the horrors of hell 
behind me as I passed out. Surely had any one seen me so 
emerge, I must have appeared a guilty and conscience- 
stricken wretch, instead of a being intent to spare and to 


330 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


save, and fain t$ escape with life. As the gate clanged after 
me, enclosing Ossian in the grounds, I had the satisfaction of 
seeing him shake and drag the old negro woman to her feet, 
as if instinctively he felt by so doing he was serving the 
cause I advocated. 

From my covert opposite, to which I had again resorted 
as a temporary refuge until my strength should return, I 
marked the negress seize the idiot by the arm and like one 
walking in sleep, swaying and tottering as she went, pro- 
ceed mechanically with her toward the mansion. Still un- 
certain as to what more to do, I lingered, for I could not 
yet bear to abandon the creature to her own devices, when 
greatly to my relief, I saw one of the old gardeners advance 
from behind an angle of the house and stop in front of the 
pair, then lead them gently onward. 

My part was done ! I could, 1 ought to go no farther, in 
consideration of the innocent, in mercy for the guilty. I 
would perish (I felt so then,) before 1 would be the cause of 
bringing down shame and sorrow upon the heads of my 
benefactors. Yet I could not conspire with crime, by suf- 
fering it to succeed before my very eyes (unconscious of 
the truth as these were or might have been supposed to be), 
without an effort to thwart and avert it. 

An hour later, when my strength and composure both re- 
turned to me, and when the first agony of my wound was 
abating, I took my solitary way homeward. Something 
gleamed in the grass as I passed the gate, but I did not 
stoop or turn to pick it up, walking along weakly and 
wearily. Later Ossian bounded after me with a leather 
string in his mouth from which dangled a key, that so 
recently dropped I could not doubt from its peculiar con- 
struction. A thought occurred to me ; I took it from his 
teeth and dropped it in the depths of my pocket, as unwill- 
ingly and loathingly as though it had been a tiny serpent, 
yet with a fixed determination. “ Let me guard him foi 
their sake,” 1 thought. “ Thank God 1 Bertie, the ever ob- 
servant one, is not near. But what must be the conse- 
quence of all this ? I tremble for the revelations of the 
next few hours. Strychnine or arsenic, it was one of these 
I am certain, and the fate of the rat or the crow is yours, 
poor Marcelline ! ” 

I arrived at the house faint and exhausted, for the sun 
had begun to pour down his fiery rays by that time, and 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


331 


the shock I had received had shaken me in every way. Be- 
sides these, the slow throbbing of my hand from which 
blood continued to ooze slowly, was becoming intolerably 
painful and nature was yielding fast beneath the agony. 
1 needed the rest and respite of my own secure chamber. 

The aromatic smell of coffee, and the bustle of servants 
crossing and recrossing the courtyard warned me that 
breakfast was in readiness, as I approached the mansion ; and 
as I ascended the stairway to my room, I saw Colonel La- 
vigne calmly reading his newspaper in the library as was 
usual with him at that hour seated at ease and quite com- 
posedly in his great Spanish chair. 

“ Was it all a dream, then ? ” I put my hand to my burn- 
ing brow, “ a figment perhaps of my own disordered and 
sun-struck brain ; or had his purpose been purely a benevo- 
lent one, and was 1 conjuring up phantoms ‘ from the vasty 
deep/ of the mystery with which my own mind had clothed 
him, caught from the ravings of a sick, delirious girl ? 

Mortifying as is ever the consciousness of having enter- 
tained unjust suspicions or of having overacted in any way, 
I caught at the momentary suggestion of my judgment with 
an absolute faith and a feeling of relief and devout thanks- 
giving for my own infatuation destined, alas ! to be too 
speedily dissipated 1 1 had time to bathe and bind my 

hand and compose my hair, before the shrill sounds of the 
breakfast bell, rung on the lower gallery by the impetuous 
King (for the slow, steady, strident sound Jura elicited from 
its brazen tongue was widely different), called me from my 
solitude and compelled external composure. 

The family was already assembled, when I entered the 
dining-room. Colonel Lavigne in a ceremonious way, re- 
mained standing until the last inmate of his house was 
ready to be seated, but Madame Lavigne was already in her 
place dispensing coffee, and met me with her usual benign 
smile and graceful greeting. 

“ You had a long ramble this morning, Miss Harz,” she 
said cheerfully, “ Jura tells me you have but just come in. 
I think you must be compiling a work on botany. Have 
you hurt your hand with a thorn ? I see it is bound up.” 

I was saved the necessity of replying by the interpolation 
of Laura who hastened to say, — 

“ She paints all the flowers she can find, mamma ! I have 
found that out, lately. I saw a large pile of flower-pieces up 


332 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


stairs on the table ; but I did not hurt them, Miss Miriam, 
indeed. I only looked at them very carefully. Some of 
them are ju^t like life. You ought to see them, mamma ! ” 

‘‘You are mistaken, Laura, in attributing all of them to 
me. Most of them are Bertie’s handiwork ; she has much 
more talent as a flower-painter, than her teacher. I always 
liked heads better, myself.” Such was my mechanical 
response. 

“ Bertie has really great versatility of talent,” said Colo- 
nel Lavigne, blandly, “ and is certainly most fortunate,” with 
abowin my direction, “in her instructress. Will you take 
a bit of this broiled chicken, Miss Harz, or do you prefer 
the fish ? 1 can recommend this trout ; it is from the upper 

Cohoot where the water is clear as crystal. Walter sent 
us down a hamper last night, of his own catching, amply 
packed in ice too, a luxury we rarely see in the interior.” 

“ Not any fish or chicken, Colonel Lavigne, I thank you, 
A morsel of the ice that surrounded the fish would, how- 
ever, be most grateful to me, if it can be spared. I am 
singularly oppressed this morning.” 

“King! Jura! wash some ice immediately, and bring it 
to Miss Harz. True to your Northern allegiance, I see I 
Louisa, suppose you have some cream frozen to-day, with 
what remains, for a variety. There is enough, I think.” 

“ Certainly, Colonel Lavigne ; I am glad you suggested 
it. There is an ice-house established at last at Mauriceville, 
Miss Miriam, and we can, on emergencies obtain it, I sup- 
pose. Such a comfort as it is in fevers, you know. Colonel 
Lavigne, do you know whether it wms filled last winter, or 
was it completed in time ? ” 

“ I never thought to enquire ;” calmly adjusting his nap- 
kin, “ I care so little for ice with our contrivance for pro- 
curing cool water by evaporation. Besides I cannot shake 
off the superstition of my forefathers, that it is unhealthy, 
and even a cause of shortening life. I confess that on this 
account, if this alone, I prefer water in its pristine condition. 
This consideration ought, if true, to prevail over everything 
else. Life ! what is there like life and its preservation ? ” 

And he rubbed his hands and looked round with an ex- 
pression of bland self-gratluation, very irrelevant from cer- 
tain proceedings that I had witnessed, or dreamed of having 
witnessed, I could not be certain which, on that same morn- 
ing, but such as I fervently prayed might prove not to have 
existed at all save in a delirious and sun-warped fancy. 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


333 


Time wore on, and a few hours more, I felt, would decide 
everything. Then came the sudden rebound of thought and 
conviction succeeding this hope. Would, under the most 
favorable circumstances, the intention, after all, be thus 
brought to light ? Who should say what might have been 
the result, but for my providential interference ? And in 
one sense, would not this interference, in itself, if nothing 
fatal occurred, rise in my mind ever after in confirmation of 
my probably unjust suspicions ? Could I ever again divest 
myself of this chimera, strive as I would, that had pos- 
sessed my brain ? Was any compromise possible. I had 
put it resolutely away an hour before, what brought it back 
so fiercely, freshly now ? 

“ The questions we put to ourselves silently, are often 
loudly answered,” saith the Chinese proverb. A thunder- 
ing knock at the front door at this instant challenged all 
attention, and a moment later, Major Favrand entered the 
dining-room, booted and spurred, with his riding whip in one 
hand, his slouched hat in the other, evidently equipped for 
a journey. 

“ Good-morning to every one,” he said, “I have not 
time to individualize. I merely came as I passed, to see if 
Doctor Durand was here in attendance to-day. We want 
him at Bellevue immediately.” 

“ Is Cousin Celia ill ? ” asked Madame Lavigne, with real 
concern in her voice. 

“ No — no,” hesitating a moment, then lowering his voice, 
he replied, hastily, “ it is Marcelline. She has been eating 
green melons, we fear, in quantities. That old wretch, 
Sabra, was drunk this morning and inattentive, and suffered 
her to stray in the gardens no doubt, where cantelopes are 
being forced for her benefit ; not fit to eat yet, however ; we 
found them torn up by the roots and broken. But I must 
be gone,” striking his boot impatiently with his whip. 
“ Nothing will satisfy Celia but that I should ride myself in 
quest of Doctor Durand. Plague take the old roving, pill- 
driving Bedouin ! He is as hard to catch, on occasions, as 
the Frenchman’s flea.” 

" He has gone to Savannah, I think,” said Colonel La- 
vigne, quietly, wiping his mouth with his napkin, prepara- 
tory to leaving the table, then laying his knife and fork in 
that exact order into which he never failed to bring these 
implements, when he had concluded his repast. “ Doctor 


334 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


Lucas rides in his stead, you know, whenever he is absent, 
and his house is much nearer at hand. But stay here, Fav- 
rand, or go you home to Celia, and let me send King. He 
knows the way across the country, which shortens the dis- 
tance considerably, and is, you know, in every way, a perfect 
Mercury.” 

“ I will follow your suggestion,” said Major Favrand, 
promptly, “ besides, 1 am not at all well, myself, to-day ; 
have a headache, which is rare for me. By the bye, that 
was a hard ride we tpok yesterday, Lavigne ! I don’t know 
how you stand fatigue so well, without turning a hair or 
collapsing a muscle. You are an older man than I am by 
several years, yet you sit firmer in your saddle.” 

“ A man of leather, remember,” replied Colonel Lavigne, 
smiling grimly,” with no flesh to bruise or shake to jelly. 
The saddle suits me as well as a rocking-chair, it is only 
rainy weather that knocks me up when I am riding ; I 
never mind exercise, but the damp makes my bones creak 
like rusty hinges.” 

“ Well, for my part, I think horseback riding was only 
meant for slaves. The Chinese idea of dancing, you know, 
Miss Harz. By the way, why is it you find everything I 
say so ridiculous ? I can’t bear to be laughed at. Bo 
cease. It embarrasses me. It is an infirmity of mine ! ” and 
affecting peevishness as he spoke, Major Favrand paced up 
and down the room in assumed displeasure, glancing ever 
and anon at me with ill-feigned, comic indignation. 

lt But to be laughed with is different, you will perceive,” 
I retorted, merely for the sake of a reply, for my heart lay 
like lead in my breast, and the smile he pretended to resent, 
was a cold affair of habit, no doubt, purely mechanical. We 
get in the fashion, sometimes, as all know, of laughing at 
whatever falls from the lips of a professed wag, and the 
inclination becomes at last an irresistible matter of mere 
association, conventional. 

“ And now I must go back to Celia,” he said, after hear- 
ing Colonel Lavigne deliver very clearly his impressive di- 
rections to King. “ Be in a hurry, my good fellow ! ” toss- 
ing him at the same time a bright half-eagle. “ Is there uot 
another son of Galen near Le Noir’s landing? Give me Iijs 
address, Lavigne ; I have forgotten his Esculapian cogno- 
men. Dr. Jones — yes, thank you. I will take your ad- 
vice, go home and send for him at once. But I trust 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


335 


ters may change for the better before either of them fret to 
Bellevue.” 

. 4 * To which I devoutly say, amen,” observed Colonel La- 
vigne, solemnly, folding his hands and bending his shaggy 
head. 

“How was Marcelline attacked?” asked Madame La- 
vigne, drawing Major Favrand to one side, to receive his 
answer on the eve of his departure. 

Involuntarily 1 caught the words “ Cholera Morbus, 
Asiatic Cholera, Celia’s opinion,” agitated between them, 
and finally a bottle of some potent camphorated, pepperized 
mixture was brought forth, by Aunt Felicite from the store- 
room by the order of her mistress, and placed confidently 
in Major Favrand’s hand. 

“ A wine-glass every hour while the retching continues 
and until natural heat is restored. Bottles of hot water, 
blankets and mustard poultices, and unremitting friction 
with the hand, and 1 think she will be relieved without the 
aid of a physician ! ” 

Such were Madame Lavigne’s directions and opinions, 
with which Major Favrand, apparently well satisfied, took 
his departure. When I crossed the corridor, on my way to the 
school-room (after applying some laudanum to my still pain- 
ful hand, by Aunt Felicite’s advice), I saw Colonel Lavigne, 
pacing up and down the gallery in his usual leisurely way, 
and I paused one moment to observe him. He was picking 
his teeth and perusing, or seeming to peruse, an outspread 
New York journal, which he held before him. 

What was I to think of this man ? Fancy itself stood 
still appalled ! Conjecture was confounded ! Such cool- 
ness was the very sublime of guilt, or ‘the fairest proof of 
innocence! But how should 1 decide? Alas ! who but 
God alone, would ever penetrate this mystery? 

Never had school-room duties appeared so irksome be- 
fore, not even when Captain Wcntwoith lay ill and wounded 
in the library ; for now physical pain was added to restless 
anxiety, and the result was, to make my duresse unendur- 
able. At eleven o’clock, an hour being still wanting to the 
time of my emancipation, I determined to throw myself on 
the generosity of Madge. 

“I am suffering very much,” I said, “my dearest girl, 
and must go to my chamber now for awhile. I feel wholly 
unequal to my duties. Will you hear the French lesson 


336 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


tliis morning? And afterwards read the rest of the ‘ Tale 
of Trials/ to the children, which I promised to read to 
them to-day as a reward for their good behavior ? The book 
is there on the table, one of Mrs. Opie’s, you know ; and 
now I must leave you to attend to my wounded hand, tak- 
ing your assent for granted.” 

“ Let me dress it for you, Miss Harz,” said Madge, affec- 
tionately. “ Those thorn punctures are very severe some- 
times. Perhaps a piece of the thorn may have remained in 
the wound.” 

“ No„ : jt was not a thorn wound, Madge. That was your 
mother’s suggestion, if you remember rightly, which at the 
moment, I did not care to refute, knowing how much it 
would agitate her to know the truth. I have been bitten.” 

“ Was it Ossian, Miss IT&rz ? Oh, I hope not ! ” 

“No, a very inferior animal. But I will not give up the 
offender, so ask me no more.” 

“ What if the dog were mad, Miss Harz? Do tell me 
and let me see father about it. I am sure he would have it 
killed instantly. Was it one of the hounds? Their name 
is legion, and I never could see the use of such a tribe, just 
to bring down an occasional deer or squirrel ! Do answer 
me,” and her kind arms were around me persuasively. 

“Not another word, Madge, on this subject, to any one, 
if you wish to please me. 1 will ask Felicite to examine 
the wound, and if necessary, Doctor Durand, when he 
returns. But I would prefer you would not mention it 
to your mother, or father either. Or to Laura or Louey. 
It would make me nervous to have it discussed. It is a 
whim of mine, perhaps, yet promise me ! ” 

“ Oh, certainly not, Miss Harz, if you object. Do go and 
attend to it now, however, and repose. I have noticed all 
day how ill you looked. I never saw you so pale. 1 will 
do my best, I promise, to replace you.” 

I went to my room and sent for Felicite. She came to 
mo promptly, and with certain unguents and soothing ap- 
plications, much relieved the anguish of my hand, which on 
first inspection she pronounced to be a “ dog bite.” 

“ Mout*it have been dat little poodle of Miss Marion’s, I 
wonders, Miss Mirime ? 

“ No, no, Felicite, a strange creature altogether, one I 
never saw but once before, never shall again, 1 trust. Don’t 
ask me though, nor mention it to a soul. No dog shall die 
for me.” 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


337 


“ You has a mighty feelin’ heart, honey. I seed dat from 
de beginning But if de dog done gone clean mad, it is your 
bounden duty to give him up to jestice ! How does you 
know but what he might bite Mistiss herself, nex’ time ? 
Dis a mighty small print of dog’s toof anyway. Major Fav- 
rand’s ’talian greyhound mebbe, wat followed him to-day. 
But you better blebe dat dog’s not gwine to suffer for any 
Christian, white or black ! Be Major dun packed him home 
before him on de hos, when he foun’ how de cretur ’zausted 
liisself, follerin him ober here, and dey do say he feeds it 
wid his own hands on cakes an’ cream and dat’s more ’an 
he was ever knowed to do for his own poor ijut, Marcelline,” 
with a deep-drawn sigh. 

“ By the bye, Felicite, how is that poor thing, have you 
heard anythingfrom her since morning?” I asked as care- 
lessly as I could. 

“ Yes, honey,” shaking her head dolefully, 11 as bad as 
she kin be to live. And masta, dey sontfor him an’ he done 
gone ober, wid all sort of powders to try and sabe her life. 
He’s a berry good doctor hissef, is master and mussiful to 
black and white. And now 1’se got to go mysef. It takes 
my bref away to trot about so, it does indeed, chile ! Sa- 
bra (dat’s her special nurse, a mighty fine ole collud lady 
as ebber you see, chile), she’s sick herself and dey wants a 
more sperienced hand dan dey’ve got to sabe der lives, wid 
all der gran’ dressed sarvant3 in libbery. I’se tryin’ to 
make up my mine to go, kase if I don’t mistiss ’clars she’s 
gwine hersef, an’ it’s all masta could do to ’strain her, an’ 
you know dat disobegence like dat would be equal to ali- 
mony.” 

What Felicite meant by this expression I did not stop to 
enquire, but something very impressive, no doubt, for she 
continued shaking her head sometime afterwards and mut- 
tering to herself incomprehensibly, turning before she left 
the room to beg that I would take charge of the medicine 
chest key, which her master had left with her until his re- 
turn, as something might be needed before she came again, 
and it was a “ mighty ’ticular duty.” 

“ Ef its de real Asiatic cholera,” she paused to add, ''I 
has little hope ef returnin’ at all Miss Mirime ; for it’s as 
catchin’ as de chicken pox, I does belebe in my heart,” 
and as she passed through the door, I heard her soliloquiz- 
ing on the fearful nature of the task before her. 

21 


338 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


“Comfort yourself, good Felicite,” I thought, “ this \s 
not an infectious disease, even if mortal, whatever cholera 
may be, you are safe from contagion.’ ’ 

Thus did my first conviction recur and thereafter cleave 
to me eternally ! 

I was not well enough to join the family at the dinner- 
table or take a mouthful of food. A cup of green tea that 
Madge brought to me herself, was all I could receive. Her 
mother too, was nervous she said, and had taken a 11 tea-din- 
ner,” a feminine resource not unusual on such occasions. 
Her father had not returned, and Felicite had gone over to 
help nurse Marcelline, “which it seems cold-hearted in me 
not to do,” said Madge, “ but mother will not hear of it. 
Do you know I have never seen that poor wretch, nor has 
Marion, though we have some idea of the truth ; and you 
know how Bertie was affected by the sight. She has never 
been the same child since, as you know, nor, I fear, will 
ever be again.” 

“ You could do no good, Madge ; only embarrass mat- 
ters. But I very much fear your mother will finally go. 
Her ideas of a neighbor’s duties are very Christian and self- 
sacrificing.” 

“ I fear so too, Miss Harz. When Walter was sick with 
congestive chills, Cousin Celia left everything to come and 
aid mother. She is singularly devoted to him, calls him her 
son sometimes ; I suppose because he is to inherit Bellevue 
when all of them are dead ; though father always declares 
the prospect of succession is blue, and that the poor im- 
becile will outlive us every one. Wouldn’t it be a strange 
Providence if she were to die after all, Miss Harz ? ” clasp- 
ing her hands. “ Oh, I am afraid it is very wicked for me 
to feel as I do about it ! But what blessings her death to- 
day would bring to Beauseincourt ! ” 

And the unconscious girl cast up her eyes to heaven in 
mute summary, no doubt, of all the good that such a change 
might bring to pass, her own happy marriage among the 
rest. 

“ Yet I do not wish for it, Miss Harz,” she resumed, a 
moment later, “ I would not let myself do this, for I believe, 
delicate as she is, the loss of that poor deformity would 
destroy Cousin Celia. Besides, it would be murderous to 
hazard such a wish, and even for the thoughts I have ex- 
pressed and entertained, I feel that I shall suffer in some 
way. Oh, God, let me cast them out from this moment ! ” 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


339 


And with clasped hands and prayerful lips Madge dropped 
her head upon my pillow, in deep silence, while the purify- 
ing process went on. 

“There, I am better now ! God will forgive me, I trust,” 
she said, looking up serenely, “ I have entreated him.” 

“We cannot always prevent wrong thoughts from in- 
truding, but it is, as you feel, our duty to expel them as 
quickly as possible,” 1 rejoined, “and shut the door of our 
hearts in their faces ever after.” 

“Yes, that is all we poor, weak mortals can do,” mur- 
mured Madge. 

“ And that is much,” I answered, solemnly. 

It was evening when Colonel Lavigne returned to Beau- 
seincourt, having passed the day at Bellevue in ministry of 
some sort, very harrowing* to him, doubtless, if his haggard 
face — of which I had a perfect view when I handed him the 
key of his ever carefully-locked, sacred medicine chest — 
was any indication of his mental condition. The poor 
wretch was still alive, he told us, but incurably ill, Doctor 
Lucas said, with what he pronounced “Asiatic cholera,” 
the very name of which ghastly visitor sends consternation 
into every neighborhood. The other physicians in attend- 
ance, we heard later, coincided in his opinion, and fortu- 
nately for one person concerned, at least, the man whose 
cool sagacity would have put them all to fault, was in Sa- 
vannah, and not to be obtained until the grave should have 
covered up all vestiges of crime or accident ; so fate or- 
dained. 

For strive as I might, that idea, like the spot on the key 
of Bluebeard, recurred persistently. For a little time, and 
under the pressure of will or reason, it would depart ; then 
suddenly reappear in all its pristine distinctness, a spot 
of blood which no Fatima friction could efface for more than 
a moment, fixed and indelible as it was, in the very life of 
things by conviction’s self. 

That night I sat at the board once more face to face with 
the poisoner ! I marked him well ! and gloated on his 
sufferings, which strong as he might be to subdue them, 
were imprinted on his aspect. I was truly Khadamanthine 
on that occasion. 

An evening of wind and rain succeeded the beautiful day, 
which had been one of such singular suffering to me. Cap- 
tain Wentworth (prevented by the storm), did not come, as 


47 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


was now his custom to do every evening. I was thankful 
for the respite. I could not have shaken off my burden 
sufficiently to have welcomed him as I ever desired to do, 
nor could I have shared it with him without dishonor to the 
roof that sheltered me. This I keenly felt. 

At midnight the storm abated, and the moon rode large 
and full in the vaulted heavens. A faint shimmering of 
sheet lightning on the distant horizon was all that remained 
to indicate the character of the atmosphere or to recall the 
recent tempest. The stars came out clear and countless, and 
a faint, fresh breeze swept sighing among the trees. Lying 
in my rigid watchful way when laboring under excitement, 
in my bed at night, I heard the rapid horse hoofs of an ap- 
proaching messenger, and the hasty summons at the door 
of the gallery for “ Colonel Lavigne.” But this time he 
went not forth alone. His wife accompanied him at the 
earnest solicitation of the dying Celia, exhausted by her 
unceasing vigils over that poor imbecile, from whom all 
others shrank appalled, and the appeal was one that the 
compassionate nature of Madame Lavigne could not resist. 

In the morning Felicite returned, having assisted Sabra 
to perform the last offices for the doomed and monstrous 
idiot, but Colonel and Madame Lavigne came back no 
more until the dire tragedy was ended, and Celia Favrand, 
unable to resist a second shock, had yielded up her frail 
being to the Conqueror and followed her wretched offspring 
to the shadows of death. 

The blow which she had sustained when her husband 
fought the duel with Captain Wentworth had been the enter- 
ing wedge to her dissolution. Doctor Durand had foreboded 
then, that any further painful excitement must prove fatal to 
her, doomed as she already was to early death ; and when 
he returned from Savannah, hastening home in answer to 
the entreaty of Major Favrand, he was only in time to join 
the cortege of friends who bore to their last resting place 
(the burial enclosure at Beauseincourt, where all of the 
name of Lavigne slumbered) the beautiful and loathly forms 
of mother and offspring, enshrined alike in their ebony 
coffins palled with velvet, the first lying in wax-like perfec- 
tion of loveliness to the last, strewn with flowers, for all be- 
holders to gaze on ; the last, shut away from human obser- 
vation by the shielding hand of compassion, if not of affec- 
tion, the veil of a father’s pride and delicacy. 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


341 


The grief of Major Favrand at the death of his wife bor- 
dered on distraction, and for a time friends feared to leave 
him to himself and the devices of his own anguish. 

But when I saw him, a fortnight later, but for a little addi- 
tional gravity of mien, a suit of sable, and the long crape weep- 
ers he wore on his hat and arm, 1 should not have suspected 
his desolation, nor its cause. lie had regained his equilib- 
rium, so sudden and mercurial is the reaction in natures like 
his own, however deep the underlying impression. A wound 
may heal healthily and speedily, and yet leave an abiding 
scar, very tender to the touch, and from such necessity care- 
fully covered from sight and sensitively guarded. 

That Major Favrand had truly loved the angel who had 
walked with him through life, and felt himself uplifted and 
half-redeemed by such companionship, 1 well believe. But 
there were not wanting many to aver that his chief cause 
of distraction lay in the loss of Bellevue and his other es- 
tates all forfeit now by that strange, unjust prevision to 
the heir of Beauseincourt. 

When Walter Lavigne left home to go with his sisters to 
the wells in the mountains, at the head of the Cohoot River, 
where he passed his time in placidly fishing, he was a poor 
young “passed midshipman,” in the navy of his country, a 
lieutenant only by courtesy, the son of a decayed gentleman, 
tottering on the verge of ruin. When he returned to Beau- 
seincourt he was the richest man of his age, in Georgia, 
having it in his power to build up his house and family and 
bear joy and prosperity to the heart of the father he loved 
so profoundly. Such was the strange order of his destiny ! 

But he still wanted two months of being of age, and all 
acts of his must be deferred until after that period in order 
to legalize them. He yearned for the day when he might 
attach his signature to deeds that would emancipate his 
father from the grasp of the usurer, and give to Major Fav- 
rand in fee simple, one of his rice plantations. Such were 
the chief of his cherished schemes, but he had a thousand 
minor ones, all based On the happiness and enjoyment of 
others. 

His mother and sisters should make the tour of Europe, 
as they had long desired to do. They should have laces, 
silks, jewels, ad libitum; pictures, books, fine furniture, mu- 
sical instruments ; and Beauseincourt should rival Bellevue 
in the lustre of its adornments, without and within. .1 was 


342 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


included in all these arrangements, he declared, if I would 
suffer it, as his sister’s friend and if it were not an insult to 
offer pecuniary aid to such a man as Wentworth, he would 
gladly bestow on him also an estate ! (magnificent sultan 
that he was.) But he would make no promises as to Gregory, 
and meant evidently to put him on trial, before sanctioning 
his engagement with Madge. So willed this young poten- 
tate of Beauseincourt, whose impulses and instincts went so 
nobly together. 

There was but one person in all the band of sisterhood, 
who seemed to look coldly on the fortunes of the beloved 
brother, and whose restless and lustrous eye roved ever- 
more as if in quest of some reality she vainly sought to find 
in a maze of surrounding fiction. More silent, more re- 
pressed than I had ever seen her, Bertie walked as if in the 
centre of a dream, alone in her family. 

“ She is more ill than they think her,” said Captain Went- 
worth, as he observed her fluctuating color, her dilating 
pupils, her panting breathing after the least exercise and re- 
marked her unusual silence, “ more ill than they know of, 
Doctor Durand or any of them. She has disease, I fear, 
either of the heart or lungs.” 

“ She has scented blood from afar,” I thought, as I heard 
his comments. 11 She suspects remotely, but dares not 
conjecture or enquire, and she is wretched. May God be 
with her I He alone can aid ! ” 


CHAPTER XX. 


)T was on the day after the funeral at Bellevue, a cere- 
mony which Walter and his sisters were summoned 
home from Cohoot springs, especially to attend, where 
Colonel Lavigne acted the part of chief mourner (croc- 
odile “ par excellence ”), and principal pall-bearer (a 
mockery that I alone in all that crowd of spectators 
recognized, but which doubtless bore with it its pang 
of punishment to the Judas of the procession) : it was on 
the very day after this solemn and impressive pageant, 
that Madame Lavigne herself, fell suddenly ill, and was soon 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS . 


343 

pronounced in imminent danger by that experienced practi- 
tioner, Doctor Durand. 

Thirty-six hours of anxiety and suffering on the part of 
her whole household succeeded this declaration of her phy- 
sician, during which his own assiduity was constant and 
unremitting, and the agony of Colonel Lavigne so intense 
as to endanger his .reason. 

He locked himself in his library and lay upon his face in 
grim despair, as Laura and Louey reported, who had stolen 
a glimpse of him through the glass door from the gallery, in 
fear and trembling, as nervous people peep at show ser- 
pents, in their crystal cases. 

He refused all nourishment until assured that nature had 
at length vouchsafed relief to his wife’s sufferings ; though 
her condition was still a precarious one he knew. He then 
stalked grimly forth, unshaven and dishevelled as he was, 
to call for a crust of bread and goblet of wine for all re- 
freshment. 

“ Masta do act so curous," said Sylphy to me, “ and hab 
dun so ebber sens we cum from de Cohoot wells ! I does 
believe Miss Celia’s def, cum mighty nigh 'ranging his 
brains. Jura says (an' he's bin masta's waitin' man, ebber 
sens dey bof growed up) as how — but wen you waves your 
hand to me dat way, Miss Mirime, I always stops right up. 
You has less proper cur’osity dan any white person ob 
quality I ebber seed. Dere' s strange talk about, do', I tells 
you I A talk of sperrits walkin' an' dat iron gate standin' 
open agin of nights, what Armand Lavigne locked up so 
long ago, wen he fell out wid Masta, an' de talk was de key 
was in his han' wen he was laid in his coffin and dat sense 
Miss Celia’s def, an' de idjot Marcelline's, he opens dat 
gate ob nights hissef, and dey all walks troo, like Chris- 
tians ! " 

“ Clean your andirons, Sylphy, and don't give faith to such 
folly. Above all, do not let a word of this reach your Miss 
Bertie, if you love her. You know how nervous she is, 
and you see how hard she takes her cousin's death. Be as 
mute as a mouse." 

“I only speaks from what de wise ones tells me," she 
muttered, rubbing away, a little sullenly. “I'se 'termined 
if de Lord spars me do', to see anoder Sunday, to walk 
down dat way an' try dat gate mysef. I has a notion dat 
some libbin' person, dun foun’ dat key, for Aunt Sabra 


344 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS . 


’members in her ’fusion like, wen she had dat fit. on debcry 
day ob de poor idjot’s retack, dat a man an’ woman bof 
’peared to her in a vision, wen she was layin’ in de grass on- 
sensible; wid wings, and dat dey walked straight troo dat 
gate. But she nebber tought ob tryin’ ob de lock sense, 
on ’casion ob her grief, and her notion dat dis was a ’vine 
warnin’ sent by de Lord hissef to prepare de mines ob de 
survivors for de resurrection day, an’ de destruction ob de 
mudder an’ chile. Now Major Favrand, he’s a onbeliever, 
anyway, we all knows, and he ’fuses to look at Sabra, an’ 
eusesher ob bein’ de cause of Miss Celia’s def, by neglectin’ 
ob de idjot Marcelline. But I’se retermined to try dat lock, 
kase I has my own ’spicions ’bout dat app’rition. I has 
tought for some time dat de Widow Weaver had ’session ob 
dat key ; eber sense Miss Bertie saw de bear driv troo into 
de pleasure grounds. I don’t see nuttier why dat poor 
white ’oman should want to ’stroy de idjot Marcelline,” (al- 
ways adding this characteristic appellation' to the proper 
name of the monster, as one would say princess, or count- 
ess, and wholly ignorant of its real meaning I am convinced) 
kase her her whole ’spectations of fortune dun swep’ away 
now, wid dat poor helpless one, an’ her chilluns no more 
dan black folks agin, stuck up wite trash dat dey wus 
onct.” 

And Sylphy gathered up her buckskins and brickdust 
and hied away to polish other brasses and meditate new 
problems. 

The importance of locking the gate seemed to increase 
with every word Sylphy had spoken ; but how was I to 
achieve this unobserved ? Major Favrand roved all day, it 
was said, about the grounds, disconsolate, entering the 
house only to sleep and eat, and it was not for me to ap- 
proach his premises under such well understood circum- 
stances. 

Yet if he should get a clue to the story of the unlocked 
gate (and it was evident Sabra had some dim remembrance 
of the successive entrance of Colonel Lavigne and myself 
through its rusty portals), or if the Widow Weaver, al- 
ready embittered by her disappointment, and a sagacious 
and vigilant person as it appeared besides, from the selec- 
tion of Armand Lavigne, should arrive at some shrewd con- 
clusions by means of her own examinations of the long- 
fastened door of communication between Bellevue and Beau- 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


345 


Geincourt, strange disclosures might follow, that might 
in turn give rise to stringent conjectures and conclusions. 

Circumstantial evidence is a mighty lever of Justice, if 
an uncertain one, and in Colonel Lavigne’s present unhinged 
condition it would not be difficult to trace to him a clue 
thus carelessly thrown down. On the other hand, it would 
never do to trust such a man with my knowledge of his 
turpitude. My life would not be safe, beneath his roof 
after such a revelation (of this I was convinced), nor could 
I bear to acknowledge myself his confederate in conceal- 
ment. Nay, more, it was barely possible, that if ever 
arraigned himself, he might by means of the gate-key, should 
I hand it to him personally, manage to shift suspicion upon 
my shoulders. Of this 1 deemed him capable. 

I sought, however, for the sake of others, to interpose 
whatever shield I could between his danger and safety, then 
and evermore, and revolved for hours the means of securing 
the gate and getting forever rid of the key unobserved. 

To confide in Captain Wentworth, would be to cast a 
bitter burden on his conscience, such as did not exist in my 
own case, for my duty to those I loved, exceeded, I felt, 
any obligation to aid public Justice in her work; and 
though I could never for one instant extenuate Colonel 
Lavigne’s crime, I did not feel called on to arraign him as a 
criminal, or put myself forward as his accuser, as a just 
man might have done, under the peculiar circumstances, in- 
volving, as they did, the honor and welfare of a household. 

The struggle of feeling was, however, very strong, before 
I could determine to run the least personal risk, to set at 
nought the report about the open gate, by locking it myself 
(no proxy was possible in this case), and casting the key 
into a bayou, dark and deep, and partly filled with brackish 
water and noisome weeds bordering the plantation. It was 
for Bertie’s sake, after all, more than her father’s safety 
even, that I so resolved. For I knew with the convictions 
she entertained about the first unclosing of the gate, how 
the idea that it had been opened again, would inevitably 
mix itself with the death of Marcelline. 

Already her suspicions were at work, I saw plainly, and to 
allay these was as essential to her happiness, nay her very 
life itself, as for her lips to breathe the air of heaven. My 
first idea was to venture forth at night and do this deed of 
light in darkness, at any risk ; but a very simple and Provi- 


346 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


dential means of achieving my end presented itself before 
long. There was occasion for a bottle of leeches, and 
Doctor Durand remembered to have seen some in a lively 
condition, on a certain shelf at Bellevue. They were needed 
promptly now, for the use of Madame Lavigne, and in order 
to procure them quickly and safely I volunteered to go after 
them myself, accompanied by Laura, and Louey, and Ossian. 

The idea was, that in case of Major Favrand’s absence 
we should know where to seek them, as a less intelligent mes- 
senger might not do, for the cupboard described was an 
obscure one, unknown perhaps to servants as a depository 
of this sort ; besides it was essential for the success of the 
remedy not to break the vial on the way. I stopped at the 
gate of Bellevue to wait the return of the little girls, send- 
ing them forward to find Major Favrand, (who was some- 
where in the grounds, we learned from a boy, who conducted 
them in search of him), and when perfectly secure from ob- 
servation, I took the opportunity presented, of locking the 
soon to be investigated portal. It was unclosed no more, 
let us trust, by such means, for, as we crossed the narrow 
bridge that led across the bayou, 1 dropped the key into its 
darksome depths, there to repose, as 1 hoped and believed, 
securely forever, a mystery until the day of final revelation. 

The very touch of that guilty instrument seemed to. have 
soiled my hand, and it was with a feeling of strange reaction 
that I found myself relieved of its loathed possession. The 
children with their small basket containing our medical 
treasures, had bounded on before, and the dog, who had ac- 
companied us, leaped the bayou lower down, so that I was 
secure from all earthly observation in casting away the key, 
and felt that the all-beholding efe of Heaven approved my 
act or its motives. 

The walk altogether was a profitable one. The leeches 
her little girls brought for her relieved the pressure on 
Madame Lavigne’s brain ; and the relocking the gate and 
hurling away the key, saved Bertie’s, no doubt, from a 
burden even more continuous and fatal. I felt like a new 
creature, I confess, when I reentered the house of Beau- 
seincourt minus the guilty key. 

Yet I will not conceal the fact that my stay under the 
crime-stained roof was in itself, from that time forth, a 
source of discontent and bitter self-reproach to me. Had I 
known where to turn, or how to explain my motives truth- 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


347 


fully to Captain Wentworth without committing others, by 
a change of plans, I should have gone forth at once to seek 
some other seclusion, until the time set for my nuptials 
should arrive ; a time which 1 desired to make coincident 
with that of my majority, as nearly as possible. 

I had ascertained that it would only have been through 
courtesy, that Bainrothe could have been expected to give 
up his rights as guardian in favor of my husband, were my 
marriage contracted during my minority ; and to involve 
him in unequal conflict with that wily Jesuit, was not what 
I desired or felt it right to do. 

When the hour arrived, when my years were full and my 
power perfect, I would go, leaning on my husband’s arm of 
strength, into his craven presence and exact an account of 
his stewardship that he might find it difficult to render. 
But now, the voice of self-preservation spoke loudly in my 
breast and called on me imperatively to forbear, to “ watch ” 
the ripeness of events for further action, and as patiently as 
1 might, to bide my time. 

My engagement at Beauseincourt had been made to suit 
this emergency. It was to expire about the middle of 
August and to keep my contract was due to appearances at 
least, as well as a measure of expediency, that 1 could not 
disregard, without as I have said, making revelations to 
him 1 loved, grievous and even unjust to others. So I saw 
no other resource than to “ stand and wait,” and breathe 
the poisonous air contaminated by the breath of an assassin, 
until circumstances, only another name for destiny, should 
grant me release from their thrall and restore me to my 
rightful position. Yet I felt many misgivings. 

When Madame Lavigne*was better, she sent Felicite to 
invite me to her presence. I followed the ancient servant 
through gallery and corridor, and up the winding staircase, 
and across the now thickly carpeted hall, to the darkened 
chamber, so far guarded with such care and mystery. 

So much had transpired since we last met that I stood, 
much affected, by the bed, from which a wan, transparent 
hand was stretched to greet me, and from between the white 
parted curtains of which, a pale, sweet face looked forth, 
smiling sadly up in mine. 

“ Sit down, Miriam ; 1 am relieved now of pain and fever, 
all but debility and disappointment ; but it will not add to 
these to talk to you, though they try to persuade me never 


348 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


to open my lips ; as if the fighting thoughts within could be 
relieved in any other way. See there ! I would not bury 
my poor babe without showing him to you. My second 
son, Miriam, out of all my large and fated family, and so 
lovely ! only born to die. The birth was premature, you 
know.” 

“ Yes, Felicite told me. I was very sorry.” 

“ Draw back the veil, Felicite, and show my boy to Miss 
Miriam. In an hour more he will be in the grave ! But I 
must be resigned.” And still she wept piteousty. 

1 looked upon the beautiful, wax-like creature, slain by 
the father’s hand ! the third of his victims in the last five 
days, with a sad philosophy. Surely it was better no more 
of his race should cumber the earth, lest in one of them, at 
last, should lurk his own warped nature, and I thought of 
the “ child angel,” of Elia, and the strange idea figured 
there, that an embryo spirit might be reared to perfection 
in the land of Paradise, took possession of me, and became 
a belief from that moment — a spiritual photograph. 

1 lingered long observing the cherub head already covered 
with shining rings of hair, the perfect hands and feet white 
as alabaster, the infant smile arrested on the lips ere life 
began, then stooping down, kissed the face of the little 
Prosper and dropped the veil above him. 

“ It is better thus, perhaps,” I said aloud, “ great as the 
grief of such a loss is, such deprivation 1 Life is bitter at 
best, and hard to bear, and he will know the joys of eternal 
life without having proved the sufferings of mortality. He 
will be there to meet you when the end comes, Madame 
Lavigne, grown and strengthened on the bread of heaven, 
standing it may be at the right hand of Christ himself, the 
perfected pupil of angels.” 

I spoke earnestly and not without emotion. Her tears 
flowed fast. 

“ I thank you for your consolation, dear Miriam,” she 
said at last. “ It is only mothers usually who regard a loss 
like this as worthy of sympathy or even attention ; where 
did you learn to love babies ? ” 

“ Infant love has always been a passion with me,” I 
answered, “ besides I had a little sister of my own once to 
whom 1 was singularly devoted ; a baby left motherless 
when less than a month old. But you shall hear all this at 
another time ; that is if you care to do so.” 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


349 


il Oh, you know I shall care, whenever I am strong 
enough to be myself again. But I am wholly selfish and 
egotistical now, 1 fear, through my strange troubles lately. 
It was the ex«tion and the sorrow, and more than all per- 
haps, the horror that I have experienced, that lost me my 
poor boy. Words cannot describe the loathsomeness of 
that deathbed ! ” and she covered her face with her hands. 

“ Don’t ever allude to it,” 1 whispered, hoarsely, “you 
must not ! Forget it, if you can.” 

“ As to poor Celia,” she said, “ looking up suddenly and 
laying her hand on mine, “ her life went out like a candle, 
extinguished by one rude blast. She was not equal to the 
shock. But she suffered very little and died calmly, con- 
scious to the last. She sent her love individually to all of 
my children, more especially to Walter. Of you she spoke, 
Miss Harz, as the only woman she had ever seen, she 
would be willing to have Major Favrand marry, should he 
seek another wife. But she knew already of your engage- 
ment. She desired me to select from her jewelry a suitable 
marriage present for you and give the rest to my daughters. 
Her marriage veil she left to Walter’s wife. All this she 
thought of, though her time was short. Her ordinary 
clothes are to be divided among her house-servants, her 
attendant women at least, for whom she felt an unusual 
attachment. 

“ ‘ No harsh word to any living creature ever passed her 
lips/ was her husband’s declaration as he kissed her for the 
last time. He finds oninspection, that her savings have made 
him passably rich. He had accused her of closeness in her 
expenditures, wealthy as she was, and profuse as he was 
himself disposed to be ; but he finds his advantage now, in 
her rare self-denial. It helps to overwhelm him. 

“ One thing alone she requested Walter, her heir, to do. 
To build a small chapel, sacred to her memory, on the land 
of Bellevue. The site she had already selected for such 
purpose, which she begs him sacredly to carry out, and to 
endow a minister for the benefit of this neighborhood, so 
long without one and left to its own devices, often very 
evil ones. He will do this I know, my own, kind boy ! 

“ And now let me beg you, Miss Harz, to take my place 
in the household, as far as you are able, until I can appear 
again. Make every one comfortable, yourself, first of all. 
Let the school languish awhile, if necessary, and have a 


350 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


general eye, I entreat you, over my household. My ser- 
vants are well-trained and will give you little trouble. 
Still, speak and command, I beg, wherever a change is essen- 
tial. To know that matters are going on to the satisfaction 
of all, will conduce much to my recovery. I ask you to do 
this as I would my eldest daughter. Alas ! Marion has not 
your forethought ! ” 

Assuring her of my zeal and willingness to serve her, I 
left her somewhat abruptly (though with a heartfelt kiss 
which she affetionately returned), as I heard the peculiar, 
spectral step of Colonel Lavigne on the stair. I did not 
care to meet him just now if I could avoid him, so opening 
the door of the nursery, I passed out of the chamber of his 
wife, just as he entered by another opening. 

That evening the last spring flower of Beauseincourt, 
was laid at rest in the same quiet enclosure in which slum- 
bered Celia Favrand and her human horror. The man who 
read the service so solemnly was he who had added three 
inmates to that garden of mortality within the last week. 
Surely “ Williams ,” himself, was never more industrious, 
nor yet more mysterious, in his peculiar province ; for 
those who have read De Quincy’s thrilling sketch of this 
murderer and been impressed with it as I have been, alone 
can know how I felt in the presence of Colonel Lavigne. 

And now the thought came to me, sternly, how should I 
conceal from Bertie’s discerning eyes, nay, from his own, 
(which to attract in suspicion, were, perhaps, equal to a 
death-warrant to me,) my consciousness of his guilt, my 
aversion to his presence ? 

Three months of such hypocrisy as would be necessary to 
screen me from observation, would suffice to destroy me. 
Yet how should I avoid such necessity, and whither could I 
fly from Beauseincourt ? What refuge had I ? What re- 
source remained ? The result was plain. 

I must bear and struggle, denied even the rich consolation 
of Captain Wentworth’s sympathy ; for his was a nature too 
fine and fastidious for such a compromise or even such con- 
cealment, perhaps, as circumstances made essential to pre- 
serve the happiness and honor of the family in which I 
abode, the prosperity of Beauseincourt. 

What mockery in this summary of advantages ! Pros- 
perity purchased with the price of blood and honor, empty 
as the bubble blown by a child from its lather of soap and 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


351 


water ! What could it avail ? As to happiness it might 
well be questioned how such a plant could flourish on such 
a soil, moistened as it was with guilty tears and enriched by 
human sacrifice. 

This theme has possession of me. A mere episode in my 
own life and distinct from every impulse or inclination of 
my being, I still find myself pursuing its labyrinthine path, 
as if fate itself, impelled me to the presence of the Minotaur. 

Were I to snap the thread here, however, and leave the 
tragedy undeveloped, I should ill serve the cause of morals 
and truth, even if I gratified thereby, the weary and impa- 
tient reader. A little while longer he must consent to tarry 
with me in the shades of Beauseincourt, before I take up 
again the clue of my story and pursue it to the end, not of 
life, but of tribulation ; not of enjoyment, but of eventful- 
ness. For peace, like oil poured on water, has laid low the 
billows of my being at last, and left it calm as the mighty 
ocean, on the shores of which I have made my home, — the 
boundless Pacific. 

From this new land of progress and expectancy I look 
back on all that I have seen and suffered, as we may revert 
in some future state of being, perhaps in some far planet, to 
this existence of ours, distinct and clear to the eyes of mem- 
ory and sympathy, but no longer a reality or integral part 
of life. 

From the time of the deed which brought such golden 
consequences to gild the prospects of Walter Lavigne and 
all that loved him, my own life at Beauseincourt was like 
the moon, half light and beauty, half shadow and intensest 
mystery. In the presence of Captain Wentworth all was 
gladness and glory. In his absence I groped in darkness, 
for I could not without positive self-condemnation, echo 
back the gratulation that naturally prevailed in the family. 
One instance here. 

We have seen that Colonel Lavigne was given to toast- 
drinking, one of his ancient and time-honored fashions. A 
day or two after Doctor Durand had pronounced Madame 
Lavigne “ on the mend,” in his terse, medical way, the master 
of Beauseincourt ordered up a variety of wines from the 
cellar, so that every palate might be suited, and prepared 
with his usual old-school ceremony to offer “ a sentiment .* ’ 
Rising for this purpose and looking around complacently on 
the assembled company, as he had once before done, among 
i 


352 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


whom again were Captain Wentworth and his aides, he 
said urbanely, — 

“ We will now proceed to pledge, with your gracious 
permission, ” glancing at his son benignly, “ Walter Lavigne 
and his heritage,” and here he bowed profoundly. 

The audacity of this proceeding agitated me visibly ; I 
had forgotten for the moment that this sublime actor could 
not possibly suspect the presence of any one behind the 
scenes, but felt myself actually injured and outraged, by such 
premeditated hypocrisy, and ready for the spring. 

The toast was received with enthusiasm and drank with 
hearty good-will (for Walter was a hero now as well as a 
favorite) by all but one person present. I alone set my 
glass down untasted with a sick impatience I could not 
overcome, having raised it to my lips, however, to avoid 
observation, and repeating only the words “ Walter La- 
vigne,” ignored the remainder of the pledge determinedly. 

I could not do such violence to my humanity as to say 
“ Amen,” to such a pledge of blood ! That heritage ! how 
had it been obtained ? Three graves might answer 1 I 
was no witch of the heath with the knowledge I possessed 
to repeat the gory countersign, “ All hail Macbeth ! ” 

Yet I trembled lest the warped and lurid eyes of the 
tiger on the scent of blood, might have embraced my pro- 
ceeding. I was wonderfully relieved when I looked 
towards him again to find him engaged in a passage of 
arms with Gregory, and apparently unconscious of my pres- 
ence. 

Indeed with the exception of the few rare occasions on 
which it had suited him to make me a depository of feeling, 
rather than confidence, Colonel Lavigne had, during my 
residence under his roof, religiously observed the promise 
he had made on the occasion of our first interview, “ to have 
very little indeed to do with me.” And that little I now 
earnestly hoped would become finer “ by degrees and beau- 
tifully less.” Indeed absorbed as he was just now with his 
anxieties and prospects, I was relieved to find that he over- 
looked me altogether, as it was natural he should have 
done, at such a time, even with the best feelings and inten- 
tions towards me, and had his motives been pure as crystal. 

I was therefore a little surprised when I saw him ap- 
proaching me, with his grave and spectral stalk immediately 
after dinner. Unfortunately I sat near one of the drawing- 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


853 


room windows, for the moment alone, and he stood with his 
hands clasped behind him silently for a short time before me, 
opening and shutting his mouth, in a solemn, suggestive way 
he had before speaking, when there was anything unusual to 
communicate. He began at last and my heart died within 
me. 

“ This is the second time, Miss Harz, that you have refused 
a pledge at my table. Can you offer any explanation of 
your singular conduct to-day '! ” 

“None; I have none to offer, ” I replied, frozen with 
dread and indignation both, and gasping in spite of my best 
efforts at composure with my hand upon my heart. 

“Was it from accident or design that 7 ’ — 

He was interrupted here, and I was saved the pain and 
trouble of replying, by the unexpected advent of Ossian 
through the window by which I was sitting, covered with 
mud and dirt, and bearing in his mouth a leather string 
from which dangled an instantly recognized, peculiar key, 
which he laid, with wagging tail and an expression of affec- 
tionate gratulation beaming from his large dark eyes, upon 
my knee, begriming my white dress considerably, as he 
brushed against me. 

Colonel Lavigne’s face was a study then ! The blo'od 
retreated from his sallow cheek until it looked like pale 
yellow wax, and his features seemed to shrink as if com- 
pressed together by an unseen hand ; his very lips were 
livid and contracted and his frame shook as if stirred by an 
ague spasm. He had gained a clue evidently. 

I was nerved by the emergency to sudden firmness, as by 
an impulse of intuition, such as a trying situation sometimes 
develops, even in cowardly organizations, the presence of 
a wild beast, for instance-, or inevitable danger of any kind. 

“ Down, Ossian ! ” 1 cried, as if in anger, “ see how you 
have soiled my dress with your treasure-trove, and torn 
away the jessamine vine too, with your plunge. What can 
this key belong to, Colonel Lavigne ? ” and I handed it to 
him carelessly. 

In that brief interval he had regained his self-command, 
and I, too, had found time to collect my faculties. 

“Let me look at it,” he said, extending his hand for it, 
“ it is truly an odd concern,” speaking very deliberately, 
after a pause, “a double-footed key, like a boy taking the 
first position in dancing.” 'And he laughed grimly. * 

22 


354 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


“ Or a Janus-faced key,” I said, examining it in turn, 
11 if we imagine this the head instead of the foot.” 

“ What an unearthly looking instrument it is, to be sure ! ” 
he exclaimed. 

“ St. Peter may have dropped it from his bunch for aught 
we know,” I rejoined, desperately. 

“ One of the keys of heaven, eh ? ” he said, laughing, 
completely reassured now, I perceived, by my manner, and 
somewhat amused by the suggestion doubtless. Then mur- 
muring, “ well, perhaps you are half right,” he dropped the 
key in his pocket and turned quietly away, forgetting, as it 
seemed, to finish his interrupted interrogatory. Nor was 
the lecture and demanded explanation aboutmy delinquency 
as to the proffered toast, ever resumed, much to my relief, I 
acknowledge. It seemed that he must soon have forgotten 
the whole matter or concluded that it was of no consequence, 
or was in absolute bad taste, for from that time forth there 
was nothing in his behavior towards me to mark the slight- 
est misgiving on the subject. 

I had occasion a short time after this little occurrence, to 
send for Doctor Durand, to consult him about a slight indis- 
position during one of his visitations, rather than visits to 
Madame Lavigne, who was long an invalid. 

Until that time I had not seen the worthy doctor face to 
face since the denouement of the Bellevue tragedy. Glimpses 
of his vanishing coat-skirts I had indeed caught from the cor- 
ridors or windows, but he had not sought an interview with 
me, nor had I thrown myself recently in his way, as I some- 
times used to do, for a ten minutes’ lively chat, and war of 
wit, if such title our badinage merited. 

Truth to tell I had somewhat resolutely shunned him of 
late, for I dreaded his scrutiny and the detective qualities 
which I judged to be inherent in his frank, blunt nature, 
along with his medical acumen. He had the “ doctor’s 
eye,” unquestionably, that gift without which science and 
experience are unavailing, and like Doctor Pemberton in that 
respect, though unlike him in all else, was almost, instinc- 
tively quick at diagnosis. Yet on the whole he was a blunt 
man, and somewhat obtuse in common matters. 

“Well, what is it to-day '( ” he asked as he entered my 
room and closed the door softly after him, “ a chill, eh ? Oh, 
a mere nervous rigor, no sign of recurrent fever, I think. 
Let me see your tongue. Clean, but too red ; eyes lively 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


SC 5 

though, pulso fast, but not feverish. Have you well in a 
day or two. Where are my saddle-bags ? Oh, I remember 
now, I left them down stairs ; but never mind yet, I want a 
little talk anyhow, and 1 have still a half hour to spare,” 
looking at his watch. “ Sit still, I will send up the reme- 
dies and directions, as I pass on my way to my horse. You 
mustn’t go up and down stairs for a day or two if you can 
help it. Avoid draughts, excitement, and undue exercise.” 

Much relieved by his assurances and directions, as I 
dreaded chills in a climate where congestion is so sudden, 
obstinate, and fatal, I promised obedience to his commands, 
and brightened up at once for the proposed talk, usually 
commenced in badinage, between us. 

“ Now, doctor, do your best, I have not seen an agree- 
able man since you were last here, and am rusting in my 
sheath.” 

“ Why, what has become of Wentworth ? ” 

“ Oh, he is out of the question now, you know, beyond 
comparison, rather.” 

“Not a man, but a seraph, I suppose, in your estima- 
tion.” 

“ How sagacious you are ! But I confess I have seen no 
evidence of wings yet about him.” 

“ Constant, is he ? Well, time will show. Engaged men 
are proverbially dull, however, I remember, so I accept the 
compliment as it first stood, without exceptions.” 

“ One would think it was your first, from-the work you 
make over it. Yet I suppose no man is ever more flattered 
by ladies, than a popular physician. “ Ecce signum ,” 
Madame Lavigne and her daughters. Esculapius himself, 
would have found his head turned in time by such atten- 
tions, such appreciation ! ” 

His countenance fell, strangely I thought, in such as- 
sociation, and a tear stood in his honest gray eye, perfectly 
bewildering to my comprehension for a moment. 

“ But the friend I loved best among them all is gone ! ” 
he said, mournfully ; “ sweet Celia Favrand, she who never 
flattered. Ah ! Miss Harz, I have lived long in this 
world of trouble, but beheld no angel like to that one even 
in a region where there are many dutiful and admirable 
women. She excelled them all ! ” 

“Her cross was heavy,” I answered, “but Christ aided 
her to bear it nobly.” 


35G 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


11 Yes, her love for her Saviour was a realization that I 
have seen in no other instance. It was transubstantiation, 
spiritual, if not material. He was ever with and about her ; 
she never forgot his presence, nor acted otherwise than as 
he might have approved. Sometimes, when called to see 
her, 1 have felt thrilled and awe-stricken, by her strange, 
shadowy beauty. In her white garments and with her 
large, clear eyes, she looked and moved like an ethereal 
spirit. Poor Favrand ! how he idolized his wife, God 
alone knew ; he never knew himself. For he has no more 
idea of self-analysis, than the merest child. ” And he shook 
his honest head. 

“ The world will be changed to him now,” I said. “ He 
will see men as they are henceforth. He is no longer a 
millionaire and dispenser of favors ; not a prince, but a 
simple gentleman like the rest, and the change will embitter 
him, I fear.” 

“ He has been very improvident, certainly ; but for his 
wife’s forethought he must have been dependent. This has 
made him what you or I would call rich, Miss Harz. But 
what are a hundred thousand dollars to Major Favrand ? 
He squandered half as much j^early, and more in three 
months, about five years ago, on one trip to Europe which 
he accomplished alone. He was a sad spendthrift ; as 
generous as the day, though, and a man of high honor, as 
we have all seen manifested. 

“ Walter Lavigne will dispense the property,” I replied, 
“ better, perhaps, than he would have done. Besides, he 
has a design of giving part of it back to him in fee simple, 
I believe.” 

“ Indeed ! I had not heard that before. It is certainly 
very nobly intended. But Favrand would never accept it ; 
never, in the world ! You don’t know the man if you think 
so. But it is strange te me Lavigne does not understand 
him better. Favrand is the last person to come under a 
pecuniary obligation to any one, the very last ! But it does 
seem great injustice that he should have nothing at all, from 
her who loved him better than the whole world beside ! ” 

Then ensued a pause, during which he again consulted 
my pulse. 

“ Miss Harz ! ” suddenly rousing himself, as he dropped 
my wrist from his fingers, “were you at Bellevue during 
the illness of that poor, wretched being ? ” and he fixed his 
eyes earnestly on my face, “ Marcelline I mean ? ” 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


357 


“ No, I was not called on, and was thankful, I confess, to 
be exempted from such an office. I was dreading that my 
turn might come. It was a great relief to me that they did 
not see ht to send for me. I should certainly have obeyea the 
summons, though the task would have been so onerous and 
repulsive. Madame Lavigne herself was wholly unnerved 
by the spectacle. ” 

“ Yes, it was a grievous one, no doubt, but I wish you 
had been there,” he mused, shaking his head, slowly, and 
eyeing the floor. 

“ 1 could have done no good, Doctor Durand. ” 

“ But you might have formed a dispassionate opinion, 
which none of the rest could have been expected to do, 
under the circumstances, as to the malady in question. You 
are clairvoyante, you know, about disease,” trying to smile, 
but failing in the effort. 

“ Doctor Lucas decided that, in the beginning, by pro- 
nouncing it Asiatic cholera. Major Favrand had considered 
it cholera morbus before. As it was fatal however’ 7 — I hes- 
itated, “ I suppose the doctor was right.” 

“It was neither !” he said, looking up suddenly and 
sternly, “ neither one nor the other. I have never said this 
before, nor must you repeat it. It would do no good ; but 
one must speak or die, sometimes. I very much fear that 
the wretched old negro, tired of her charge, poisoned the 
poor idiot. I have had my conscience singularly disturbed 
on this subject and thought once or twice of naming it to 
Favrand. But it could effect no other result than to tor- 
ture him. The poor devil is drinking herself to death as 
fast as possible, I hear, and the law needs no better aux- 
iliary than such remorseful debauchery. Besides to ex- 
hume that repulsive corse would involve more than ordinary 
pain, require more than usual nerve 1 ” 

I remained stricken and silent. Continuing after a pause, 
he said , — 

“And yet I have my doubts as to the true course to be 
pursued. The property is gone under any circumstances, 
to be sure, and that is, after all, the principal consideration. 
Really, Lavigne should pension off old Sabra,” rousing 
from soliloquy and smiling bitterly. “ Her act came in the 
very nick of time to save him from ruin. This he confesses 
himself, for what is Walter Lavigne’s is his father’s, and 
there is enough to pay every debt and enrich every child 


358 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


besides; So Marion can afford to marry her Vernon now, 
and Madge her Gregory, you see ! How the wheel turns, 
to be sure ! ” 

“ Doctor, you know everything I You are as great a 
gossip as Doctor Franklin, Voltaire, or Doctor Samuel John- 
son himself! ” I roused myself to say. 

“I am father confessor, you know, in this family, besides 
medical adviser. The place is no sinecure, I assure you. 
The sins of these amiable women are manifold, between our- 
selves, and they won’t submit to penance.” And here he 
laughed merrily for the first time, but I was now too sad for 
any sympathy with the vein of persiflage I had commenced. 

“ To revert to that dreadful suspicion,” I said, after a 
pause, “ you don’t intend to speak of it at all, I understand, 
doctor ? It is to remain buried in your own breast, as in 
mine, is it not ? Am I correct ? ” I asked, with suppressed 
eagerness, which fortunately escaped his notice. 

“ I don't know what to do ; I fancy, however, I shall l^t 
it drop. It could do no good ; it could not recall the dead, 
or give Favrand back his fortune, you know.” 

“ And it might be the means of setting the Widow 
Weaver at a lawsuit,” I interrupted. “ She is half crazed 
with disappointment, they saj r , as it is, and would catch at 
a straw of suspicion in her desperate and drowning condi- 
tion. Then it would agitate Bertie so dreadfully ! She 
has almost a mania on such subjects, and has been greatly 
depressed ever since Madame Favrand’s death.” 

“Ay, there was the crying offence after all! Not but 
what I regard human life, as God’s property alone, with 
which no man can meddle without blood-guiltiness, unless 
by the laws of war or honor. But still we know what a 
miserable mockery of existence that was, at best, and how 
well it might have been spared from this earth of ours, 
could suffering have terminated there. But it did not, 
it could not ! The feeble thread of Celia Favrand’s existence 
was snapped by the ordeal to which this miserable old poi- 
soner subjected her. For the symptoms, as described to 
me, were those produced by arsenic, nothing else ; and 
Doctor Lucas ought to have his ears shortened, or be per- 
mitted to bray medically no more, for delivering such an 
absurd opinion. Asiatic cholera, indeed, when there is 
none nearer than the East Indies that we know of! Only 
slight evidence of a general epidemic on the eve of setting 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


359 


out on its travels a second time, ready packed for a jour- 
ney.* Sporadic cases do not occur under such circum- 
stances. And Lucas and Jones are a pair of quacks and 
donkeys ! But it is as well to humor the idea, as we don’t 
mean to expose the truth or pluck the heart from the 
mystery. If it were anybody but that poor old drunken 
negro, though, who has had enough to craze her, no doubt, 
in attending for three and twenty years to that wretched 
incubus, shut up eternally and by the necessity of her 
position like an imprisoned owl, or a toad in a stone, I would 
lend a hand to build a gallows for the offender as high as 
that got ready by Mordecai for Haman and help to hang 
him or her thereon, if necessary to carry out retributive 
justice, with my own Esculapian hands ! ” 

“ You called me bloodthirsty once, Doctor, what are you 
now ? ” 

I asked this question like one in a blinding dream. 

“Just, my dear, which is very different. Providence 
orders matters strangely. Here is a whole family crushed 
by the act of a malignant or insane darkey. A lovely 
woman laid in her grave, when by unusual care, her 
“ taper,” of life might have been “ cherished,” as the old 
song goes, some years longer ; her husband’s happiness 
thus far prolonged if not insured, and his prosperity length- 
ened into extreme old age probably. That is, had nature 
been allowed to carry out her scheme of life with regard to 
that poor Marcelline I You know, I suppose, that her father’s 
income was made coincident with her existence, so as to 
secure his oversight of her condition. The most thoroughly 
successful strategem as it would have proved, but for this 
contretemps, that mistaken humanity ever adopted to bene- 
fit its object.” 

“ Yes. It was a strange device, certainly. But what an 
injustice and tyranny the whole will was, to be sure. Mar- 
celline ought to have been provided for against want, of 
course, but an asylum would have been the best place for 
her in case of her mother’s death, and even during her life- 
time, I think.” 

“ I agree with you there. But Colonel Lavigne seriously 
offended his uncle in early life, by making this very remark, 
they say. Major Favrand, he from his very organization 

* The milestones between cholera epidemics had not been set up by experience 
at that period, or Doctor Durant would scarcely bave hazarded this prediction. 


360 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


despised, and considered a mere fortune-hunter, which lie 
never was, never ! I have known him intimately for a life- 
time. I can vouch for his honor as my own. Yet I think 
it was to cut these two men out of the enjoyment of his 
estate, that Armand Lavigne framed his will as he did.” 

“ But what did Colonel Lavigne do, besides make the re- 
mark you cited, to cause such animosity ? ” I questioned, 
not without an eager curiosity. 

“ Ah, none can know. Armand Lavigne was a proud, pe- 
culiar man, devoted to his own family, however, even if not 
easy to get along with. Lavigne is an oddity, also, as you 
see, without tact and remarkably plain-spoken. No man 
living regards less the peculiarities of others, and he hasn’t 
a concealment on earth ! ” 

“ Ah, doctor, one may be very good at physical diag- 
nosis, I perceive, and poor at mental analysis,” I replied, 
gravely. “I think differently. On near acquaintance, I 
believe Colonel Lavigne to be a man of reserves, of many 
concealments even.” 

“ You are mistaken, child ; mistaken if you are medically 
clairvoyante. I have often been astonished to hear him dis- 
cuss his private affairs in the presence of mere strangers 
with perfect openness. His debts, his difficulties, any one 
was welcome to know of; matters men usually keep to 
themselves and ought to. And he has no more tact, as I 
said before, than a rhinoceros ! If a man’s uncle had been 
recently hanged, he meeting him, for instance, from mere 
association of ideas, would be sure to ask especially after 
the health of this disgraced and forever-to-be-ignored rela- 
tive ; not intending the slightest offence in the world, nor 
understanding later, how any could have been taken. Then 
he is too absent-minded to be mysterious. It would be in 
vain for him to try and be profound ; everything would 
come out sooner or later. 

“ ‘ What a fool Favrand is ! ’ he said one day in his hear- 
ing, quite unconscious of his presence. Another time, he 
remarked, * She thinks no one knows it is a wig,’ with his 
eyes fixed on the Widow Boardman’s artificial hair. Nor 
could he be persuaded that he had uttered himself aloud. 
These are only specimens of his want of reticence. But his 
whole family are aware of this weakness. Madame La- 
vigne trembles for him and others whenever any subject is 
specially tabooed. It is sure to attract him specially.” 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


361 


Then suddenly rising 1 , he said. "Now, I must go. I 
have still a dozen calls to make to-day, and twenty miles 
to ride,?’ again referring to the flattened orange in his 
pocket, the watch by which the health of " Lesdernicr,” 
was regulated. 

" You lead a hard life, doctor, ” I said, vaguely. 

" Yes, a dog’s life, as poor Kip Van Winkle said of his 
favorite Wolf, you remember. My mistress is necessity, 
though, instead of Mrs. Winkle ; that is the only differ- 
ence. My wife is indulgence personified.” 

" Don’t breathe a syllable as to that suspicion of yours 
about the poison just now,” I gasped, as he went out lay- 
ing my hand lightly on his arm. " Bertie is so eccentric ; 
and between ourselves, I fear Colonel Lavigne himself, is 
slightly shaken by this sudden prosperity.” 

" I think I shall let it drop,” he said, slowly, "but I can- 
not tell yet, I can’t decide. I have to reflect a little more 
on the subject. One has time for meditation, I assure you, 
in these long, lonely rides over hill and dale, and conscience 
will assert itself in solitude. But take care of yourself and 
be a good girl until I see you again. Farewell ! ” 

And he went off in his usual hurry, leaving me far more 
oppressed and mentally ill at ease than he found me. 

I sat all that day, I remember, bound in a sort of gloomy 
dream, not unlike the effect that succeeds the exhilaration 
and composing effect of opium. My indisposition formed a 
sufficient excuse for entire seclusion ; even Bertie was de- 
nied admission to my darkened chamber, and my mind 
wrestled with circumstances, until, weary and overtaxed, it 
was fain to rest, vanquished by the burden thrown upon it. 

But reaction, my second nature, on the very next day 
asserted herself vigorously, and I enjoyed the sunshine and 
the shadow, and the faces and voices of those dear to me, 
with a new delight, born of recent sufferings. Above all 
did I cling to Captain Wentworth’s presence now, which 
gave such glory to my being that it was like the with- 
drawal of sunshine to feel it pass away. And yet with a 
wild and wistful yearning, I questioned sometimes of the 
endurance of this exceeding happiness — questioned vainly, 
as do all who ask of fate. 


362 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


CHAPTER XXL 



S Sylphy combed my hair on Sunday night, prepara- 
tory to other arrangements for sleeping (Bertie 
being with her mother on that occasion, over whom 
some one of her daughters still held nightly super- 
vision, feeble and nervous as she still continued to 
be), the subject of the closed gate was resumed by 
that voluble person. 

She had been there that very afternoon, she declared, 
and found it locked, and she did not know what to think 
or whom to “ suspicion but she was compelled to drop 
all further investigations or discussions of the subject for 
fear of her master’s wrath, with which, she said, he had 
sorely threatened her, in case she meddled any more with 
such affairs. 

“ How did your master know of your walk or its object, 
Sylphy ? ” I asked, indulging in a not unnatural curiosity. 

“ Dunno, MissMirime. All datl does know is dis. Jes’ as 
I was shakin’ de gate like, to see ef it would come unfastened 
all alone, ob its own sef, I felt dem long fingers grip hold 
ob my neck bellin’, and de nex’ ting I knowed, I was lyin’ 
out in de palmetto patch, onsensible, an’ masta hissef 
standin’ ober me. 

“ 1 Gal ! you is too meddlesome ! ’ he disclaimed, 'mine 
your own business, an’ keep away from dis Bellevue gate, 
or mayhap I may sen’ you to Mr. Cartarel or your Uncle 
Quimbo for correction. What brought you ober dis way, 
Madam Sylphy ? ’ ” grinnin’ like, “ (I mos’ hates masta wen 
he looks at me dat way, Miss Miriine),” bending low to 
whisper this piece of information, ** he ’minds me ob dat ole 
gray Poll parrot ob Madame Grambo’s, down at Le Noir’s 
landin’; and do’ he nebber laid han’ on me before, in his 
lifetime, I was afeerd now ! Den I sez, still settin down in 
de palmetto patch, like a sparrow hen, wen de hounds is in 
chase, skeered to def, I tells you wat, Miss Mirime, an’ 
raisin’ up my two jined han’s jes’ so, I sez, ‘ Masta, it’s de 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


363 


eperits I’se come to see about, wat walks troo dis here 
gate mos’ ebry night, de wise ones tells me. Miss Celia an’ 
de idjot Marcelline, an’ de ole masta, Armand Lavigne, all 
wid white wings an’ as tall as a poplar tree.’ 

“ Den he turned mighty pale an’ cotched at de fence 
spike wid one han’, leanin’ hard on his cane wid de odder, 
‘ Who locked dis gate, gal ? ’ he ’terrogated. ‘Had you 
any han’ in dis mystery ? ’ dat’s what he called it, I ’stinctly 
’members, ‘ Speak ! or I will make you,’ an’ he shuck his 
stick at me an’ quibered de balls ob his eyes, till he looked 
like de evil one bewitched, or ole Jake (dat’s little Cora’s 
grand-dad), hissef, wen de fits is on him. 

“ ‘ Masta,’ I said, ‘ ef I knowed who locked dat gate, I’d 
not be here ’sperementin,’ (dat stans to reason now, don’t 
it, Miss Mirime ?) ‘ I has my ’spicions, but I doesn’t know 
nuffin’ ob de matter, I ’sures you ob dat, masta, I does in- 
deed. An’ now please let me get up, sah, an’ creep home ; 
an’ I ’clars ’fore de gracious Lord, I nebber will set my two 
precious feet in dis part ob de plantation groun’ no more. 
I’se bruised already, till I feel like a jelly-bag, masta, an’ I 
can hear my bones rattlin’ like dey was all smashed up. I 
isn’t no ’possom to drap about widout hurt or hindrance, 
and mistis nebber in all her born days’ — But he cut me off 
mighty sharp like, I tells you, Miss Mirime, sayin, — 

“ ‘ Gather yoursef up den, an’ clear out! an’ hold your 
tongue about this matter, or I’ll rip it from your mouth and 
grind you to powder next time.’ An’ he wabed his cane 
rite ober my white silk bonnet wat you gib me. I ’spected 
ebry minute to hear de crown smashed in, an’ you better 
blebe I made ‘ double quick,’ as Masta Walter calls it, an’ 
running home like a partridge wid one wing broke, nebber 
stopped till I reached my mistis’ room. I was safe dar, I 
know ; safe as King is wen he gets near masta’s cheer, for 
we was raised for pets and has ’ticlar purteotion.” 

“ And that is the reason you are going to unite your for- 
tunes,” I observed, smiling as I thought of the marriage of 
Abou Hassan, the favorite in the Arabian story of the 
‘ Sleeper Awakened,’ and its golden results, and profitable 
stratagems. 

“ I don’t know how dat will be, Miss Mirime,” she said, 
suddenly suspending her operations with the comb and 
clinging to the back of my chair, almost convulsively, while 
she heaved a heartfelt sigh. “Sens Masta Walter dun 


364 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


come to his own, King is mightily stuck up, mightily in- 
deed 1 ” She said this mournfully. “ Dey talks ob takin’ 
him to France in Paris an’ lebin’ me, kase mammy is ole an’ 
has de failin’ sickness, an’ mistiss, she don’t want to ’stress 
mammy by takin’ me away, an’ dat critter King is crazy 
like, ’bout wat lie’s gwine to do, an’ gwine to see an wear, 
an’ de fine libery Masta Walter’s gwine to get for him ober 
dar, an’ gol’ watches for him an’ Jura, an’ bress pins, and 
seems to me I was happier when we was all poor an’ bleeged 
to stay togeder, equal like at Beauseincourt.” And pausing 
she wiped away a tear, like the soldier in the song. “ But 
’pears like, Miss Mirime, dat’s de r itur’ ob men, wite and 
black,” shakin’ her head dolefully, and with this philosophic 
remark and finale she meekly resumed her functions. 

“ What made you so wise, Sylphy, on the subject of the 
ways of fickle men ? ” I asked, after a pause. 

“ Dar was Miss Jones’s beau (dat’s de doctor’s daughter, 
Miss Mirime), soon as he foun’ his gol’ mine, he drapped 
her like a hot yam, an’ now he’s courtin’ ob Miss Durkee ; 
an’ sens Masta Walter’s got his own, dar’s Masta Luke 
Gregory makin’ up to Miss Madge, an’ dun turned his back 
altogedder on you, Miss Mirime, kase you is poor, I spec, 
wat he was so fond ob in de beginning. But Captain 
Wentworth ! he’s a rale gentleman, I blebe, de best ob de 
bunch ob de Yankee engineers, an’ I is glad you is skewered 
on his refections any way.” 

“ 1 am not conscious of anything of the kind,” I could 
not help saying, laughingly, as I thought of brains on a 
“ skewer” toasting before a slow fire. But she took me 
literally and somewhat startlingly. 

“Den you is disappointed like all de res’, Miss Mirime,” 
she said, sympathetically, adding after awhile as she met 
my laughing eye in the glass before us, “ but you can’t fool 
me when 1 sees your face 1 Dat ’trays ebry ting, Miss 
Mirime. It’s as good for de ’flexion as the glass it§ef, an’ 
dem eyes of yours can speak as plain as Ossian’s.” 

“ Thank you, Sylphy, for the compliment; he has very 
fine, expressive eyes, 1 know.” 

“Den you is gwine to be married, sure enough, Miss 
Mirime ? Your eyes dun tole me ebry ting ! ” 

“ Oh, not until I go home, Sylphy.” 

“ You has a home den ob your own ? ” 

“Yes, or will have by that time. My father’s house is 


MIRIAMS MEMOIRS. 


365 


mine, when I come of age, Sylphy. And a pleasant place 
it is.” 

“ I wish mistis would let me stay wid you an* Miss Bertie, 
wen she goes to de salt water countries ! An’ mammy too ! 
Maybe dat Norf air might do de ole soul some good ! an’ I 
could wait on you bof ; but you ’fers de free white gals, I 
s’pose.” 

“ No, Sylphy, I have never seen a waiting-maid so nice 
i and tidy as yourself. But who said Miss Bertie was going 
North with me ? ” 

“ She dun tole mistiss so hersef. 1 Let me go wid Miss 
Harz/ she says, ' an’ I will stay away from Europe for- 
ebber ! ’ Dat’s jes’ de words she ’spatiated, for I heerdher 
wid my own two blessed ears.” 

“ You have the ears of a mole, Sylphy; you hear every- 
thing.” 

“ I hears a heap more dan I knows de meanin’ ob, Miss 
Mirime ! Dem book words is mighty puzzlin’ to me ; 
'specially dem French words, like Miss Lurlie’s beaux al- 
ways speak wid. It takes all my retention to understan’ 
dem, eben wen dey makes de dumb signs. Do you tink 
sich folks hab good hard sense, Miss Mirime, or is dey jes’ 
foolin’ like ? ” 

Then I told her of the building of the tower of Babel, and 
the confusion of tongues consequent on this act of presump- 
tion, and the hope we have that in heaven there will be but 
one universal language spoken, that all will understand, the 
same that Jesus speaks. And she went away, it is to be 
hoped, enlightened. 

It will be seen that Sylphy’s conversation, was a strange 
mixture of Bertie’s words and her own idiom. Altogether 
a compound worthy of the attention of linguists.” 

A trial was in store for me that I had not anticipated. 
Captain Wentworth was summoned to Washington *so has- 
tily that he had just time to bid me a hasty farewell, pack a 
valise and set forth on his journey. He was accompanied 
to Savannah by Mr. Gregory, who went to take charge of a 
band of laborers employed to work on the mail route he had 
lately surveyed. They had been sent round by steamer 
from New York, raw, sturdy Irishmen, fit food for malaria, 
but cheaper, for some purposes, than negroes, since they 
were not a permanent investment.. Self-preservation is 
synonymous with the protection of property, and within 
such category comes the slave. 


366 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


The man whose slave picks out his own value every year 
in cotton, at late advanced prices of that staple, finds him 
too valuable to be put to the unwholesome task of clearing', 
and the sons of the sod are selected for this work, which 
usually puts them under the very sod at last, they come to lay 
bare to the rays of the Southern sun. 

What matter while there are more where they come from ? 
The Southerner takes the Irishman, with the English estim- 
ate attached, a mere tool to be employed and thrown by 
when broken, unimportant as a citizen, and if not able to 
labor, a cumberer of the earth, neither to be endured or 
sympathized with. The negro in his Southern cabin, is a 
thousand times more comfortable than Paddy at home ; and 
as to Paddy in exile, what negro would be content, even in 
Africa, to live in his desolate looking shanty ? 

But this was a government contract, and no individual 
could, in this instance, be blamed for employing them, if 
these poor creatures chose to lay their bones in the swamps 
of Lesdernier for the chance of three months wages ! 

On the heights above were the chosen summer retreats 
of those who dwelt in the lowlands and by the river banks, 
and as the parable tells us Lazarus looked down on Dives, 
from the secure shelter of Abraham’s bosom, these fortunate 
devotees of the goddess Sanitaria, could survey at their 
leisure the ghastly and fever-stricken wretches who made 
their lairs on the edges of the pestilential plain beneath and 
opened new lands. 

Thus, in comparative security, might the colony of engi- 
neers survey and conduct work which must prove inevitably 
fatal to its immediate prosecutors, and yet, to a humane 
mind, what position could be more replete with painful re- 
sponsibility ? So felt Captain Wentworth, as he looked 
forward to a summer at the Refuge. 

“ If IiCan possibly get off from this work,” he said, “by 
the first of July, I will do so, and we will go North then, 
instead of later. Let us be married here, at that season, 
and proceed together.” 

IIow my heart leaped at the proposition ? I had recently 
learned, incidentally, through Gregory, who had mentioned 
it in connection with his own affairs, that Bainrothe would 
remain abroad until October. Yes, it was just what would 
relieve me from the shadow of evil fortune to another, in no 
way connected with me, and from which I sought to emerge, 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


367 


as eagerly as a bird shut up in a darkened room might have 
sought sunlight. But everything must rest with him and 
the judgment he would form, when he knew the web of cir- 
cumstances by which I was surrounded. It was not until 
after he left me that with this view, I determined to write 
him a few explanatory lines by Mr. Gregory, who for pur- 
poses of his own lingered some hours longer at Beausein- 
court. They were to meet it was agreed at parting, at Le 
Noir’s crossing where Captain Wentworth had business and 
would wait the arrival of his aide, and where he would re- 
ceive from his hands the clue to my mystery or a portion of 
it. He might send me an answer promptly by the same se- 
cure means for Mr. Gregory was indisputably cautious and 
careful, with all his apparent off-handedness, and responsi- 
ble too, as had been found by one who would brook no 
trifling of any kind with his affairs. 

For reasons that will be more apparent, hereafter I append 
here the hasty note I dispatched by Mr. Gregory to Captain 
Wentworth. 

“You have known for sometime, my dearest friend, that 
I was preserving carefully some secrets of my own, with 
which 1 have hesitated to burden you and for which I have 
prayed your forbearance. In your noble confidence, you 
have never demanded of me to sacrifice these resolutions, 
based on my own safety alone ; and which I deemed it best 
to preserve until the time for action should arrive. 

“You have doubtless thought these reservations of mine 
more unimportant than they were, in your estimate of my 
* over-scrupulousness/ some woman’s detail of dead affairs 
of the heart or hoarded bitterness founded on wounded 
“ amour propre,” perhaps, which I deferred laying before 
you until our interests were one. Wentworth ! my wrongs 
were deeper ! I have neither time nor inclination to enter 
into details now, agitated as I still feel, by our recent part- 
ing and the proposition this involved of a change of plans 
in anticipation of our day of union. But I have determined 
to place in your hand the clue of my mystery to be devel- 
oped later, before you go to a distance and to the very 
scene probably, in which this was enacted. For your affairs 
may lead you to the city of my birth. 

Be patient however, and self-contained, for we must bide 
our time as by the stringency of my father’s will, I am 


263 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


placed, until the time of my majority, singularly in the 
power of two persons alike evil-minded and designing, from 
whom you could only physically protect me. One, the ex- 
ecutor of that testament, false to every duty and principle 
of loyal guidance, the other, alas ! a woman who is, or who 
should have been my sister, who is unfortunately only my 
guardian and my foe. Enough to say, I am that heir of 
whom Gregory spoke to you, as in the power of Baiurothe. 
You have hitherto heard only a portion of my name. My 
father’s was Monfort ; he was an Englishman, well born 
and honorable, and my childhood and youth were passed 
in affluence, all swept away by the failure of the United 
States Bank and the peculations of Bainrothe. The rest I 
leave till another day, but when we meet again, I shall put 
you in unreserved possession of everything connected with 
my life and history. In the meantime consider whether it 
be not best I should abide where I am until the last of Au- 
gust, for the beginning of September brings with it my ma- 
jority and natural emancipation. I have not another mo- 
ment ; Gregory waits impatiently. Pray reply to this by 
his secure hand. Yours ever, 

Miriam Harz Monfort. 

Four or five days elapsed before Mr. Gregory’s return. 
He came to Beauseincourt immediately ; for his engagement 
with Madge was now a settled thing, the consent of her 
parents and potent brother having been at length sought 
and formally given, and in the last instance reluctantly. 
He lost no time in assuring me of the safe delivery of my 
note, “ which struck Wentworth all in a heap, Miss Harz, 
I declare, and left me amazed with curiosity at such a re- 
sult. Not grief, however,” he added, saucily. 

“ Well, and the reply, Mr. Gregory ? ” I asked, with an 
eagerness I could ill disguise, stretching forth my hand invol- 
untarily to receive the expected missive. 

11 Is with the catfish, Miss Harz, at Le Noir’s landing, I 
fear. I never was as sorry for anything in my life, but I 
dropped my pocket-book as I was getting into the skiff to 
cross the river (the ferry-boat being aground), and it sunk 
like lead, because of a few pieces of gold among the bank- 
notes. It was pretty much all I possessed of money, but I 
would give the rest of its contents cheerfully, to have your 
note back. It was placed there for very safe-keeping and 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


369 


of course, is, or at least I fear so, irrevocably lost. But 
Wentworth will write again from New York, never fear, 
and as it was a mere billet, very hastily written, I believe in 
pencil (at least the direction was leaden I am sure), it could 
have contained nothing very important, I hope. Only the 
everlasting conjugation I suppose, and he hummed the old 
couplet, — 

“ Amo araas, 

I love a lass 

Like a cedar tall and slender.” 

in his unapproachably impertinent fashion, cool, sunny and 
supercilious all at once. 

Provoked as I was at this contretemps, I could not do 
less than receive graciously, Mr. Gregory’s whimsical ex- 
planation. His loss seemed on the surface to have been 
incomparably greater than my own, and I should have been 
selfish to have refused him my sympathy. Besides it was 
.very certain I should soon hear again. It remained for 
later days to show how inestimable the reception of that 
note would have been to me, and what a keystone it proved 
to my arch of life. 

Its loss entailed upon me, confusion, anxiety, delay that 
eventuated in sorrow and misfortune, and came near draw- 
ing down on my own head, the failure of my hopes in com- 
plete and crushing ruin. Of such importance was it, to re- 
peat my figure, to the completion and strength of the 
already constructed arch, reared by the hands of honor and 
affection. But from such knowledge I was shielded then, 
and the regret I felt was wholly separate from mistrust or 
apprehensions. I missed the kind and tender words of 
cheer that I felt convinced the lost note contained, and on 
which I should have sustained my courage until later com- 
munications reached me from across the waves. It was 
my wish and intention to write at once to Captain Went- 
worth and acquaint him with the loss I had sustained, but 
Mr. Gregory had forgotten his address, if he ever knew it. 

I was fain to wait for the promised letter to be written, as 
he had assured me, on* shipboard, and dispatched as soon 
as his foot should touch the shore. And 1 knew full well 
the sacredness he attached to all promises, however slight. 

“ You might as well attempt to follow a will of the wisp 
as Wentworth when he once gets started,” said Gregory, 
23 


370 


MIRIAMS MEMOIRS. 


interrupting my reverie and, as it seemed, almost replying 
to the tissue of my thoughts with his ready penetration. 

“ But he is a man of his word,” he continued, “ and will 
surely write promptly and, no doubt, repeat several times, 
the contents of that ever-to-be-lamented Beotian pencil sketch 
of his. Variety is not his specialty you will find, Miss 
Harz, when you come to be better acquainted ; indeed I 
1 fancy the word hum-drum might suit,” hesitating between 
the two syllables and looking at me significantly. 

“ That is enough, Mr. Gregory ! Do not commit your- 
self again, I beg, or I may be tempted to indiscretion. Such 
slurs do injustice to my ideas of friendship.” 

“ Oh, but your geese are all swans,” he said, laughingly. 

“ Better thus a thousand times than the reverse. Friend- 
ship is worth but little that does not gild and ennoble its 
possessions.” 

“ 1 thought you worshipped truth, Miss Harz. Bare, 
naked, shivering, starving, staring truth, drowned in a 
well ! ” 

“There is truth in sunshine as well as storm,” I made 
reply, “ yet we knowhow differently they make a landscape 
look. What so dreary as a rainy sea ? What so joyous as 
ocean glittering in the rays of the sun ? Yet both sun and 
storm are truthful mediums in their turn. I have my pref- 
erences.” 

“You have your own way of putting everything. But I 
confess I should prefer to owe affection to judgment rather 
than imagination.” 

“ Imagination is little worth, unless it be based on truth. 
But what a glorious superstructure it is when reared on 
such a foundation ! I would not give much for any mind 
without it. It is the leaven that lightens our earthly 
bread.” 

“ It is a partial sun whose prototype we find not in na- 
ture, however, that only gilds a chosen few, Miss Harz 1 ” 
he replied. “ What would I not give to be the object se- 
lected for such a flood of radiance ! one of the gilded friends, 
one of the snowy swans, one of the elect, in such a glorious 
heritage ! But you hate me unreasonably ; would that I 
could remove your prejudice ! ” 

“ Why descend to personalities ? ” 

“You do not deny it then ? You do indeed detest me 1 
I have suspected it for sometime. And do you know I am 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS, 


371 


fool enough to let this idea make me miserable ? What is 
it you despise?” folding his arms defiantly; “my ugli- 
ness, my manners, my name, my ways, my” — 

“ Toute ensemble ,” I interrupted, laughing. “There! I 
verily believe the very air of this place is infectious ; and 
that all who enter Beauseincourt, are like those who stood 
in the Castle of Truth, celebrated in Madame de Genlis 7 
story, and reveal themselves without intending it.” 

“ You are the Circe then ; all fall under your spell with- 
out distinction,” bowing profoundly. “ But to return to a 
little text you let fall just now,” he continued, with a ma- 
lignant gleam in his eyes, one on which I like very well to 
descant in my wise, wild way on occasions. “ ‘ Why de- 
scend to personalities ? ; Is it in compliment to and in imi- 
tation of Wentworth, who asked me all sorts of questions 
about you while we remained together, personal questions, 
with a most preternatural eagerness. Just as if I knew,” 
speaking with affected indifference, and glancing off to one 
side, while he plucked a flower from its stem, that leaned 
over the portico where we were sitting, “ Just as if I 
knew, or had any means of knowing,” he repeated, “why 
you wear your dresses invariably high in the neck and 
closed at the wrists, even if transparent, or whether (in 
truth it is a very disagreeable revelation to make to you, 
Miss Harz, but I feel for some reasons compelled to do it), 
whether I had heard that you had some scars from an 
ancient burn, which you sought in this way to conceal on 
neck and arm, or had myself observed them ? All this he 
asked and I was obliged to admit very reluctantly that I 
had observed something of the sort through the medium of 
a white thule spenser, but that the beauty of the form and 
skin were only thus enhanced” — He was interrupted 
here. 

“ Wretch ! I do not believe a word you tell me!” fell 
from my writhing, quivering, indignant lips, and I rose to 
leave him with a feeling of exasperation rare in my nature. 

“ Stay ! just for one moment,” he implored, frightened, 
no doubt, at the results of his own transparent malice ; “ To 
do Wentworth justice, his motives were above suspicion. 
For the rest, I humbly beg your pardon Miss Harz, I do in- 
deed.” 

“ My pardon indeed ! Circumstances may compel me to 
bear your odious presence, they can do no more.” And I 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 



abruptly left him, to shun him invariably thereafter when 
ever practicable. 

It was in this way that Gregory loved to throw out his 
poisonous darts and wound to the quick the woman he could 
not conquer. He never ventured so far again, however, 
and I found it best to affect entire obtuseness, or at least in- 
difference, to his insinuations in future, for to these he 
thereafter confined himself ; though with my keenly sus- 
ceptible nature to insult and ridicule, they never failed to 
sting and rankle. Strange means wherewith to secure the 
regard he pretended to covet. 

One hint that Mr. Gregory had dropped in the course of 
a former conversation, had not been lost on me. He had 
mentioned Mr. Robert Walsh, our consul in Paris, as his 
means of communication with Mr. Bainrothe, in speaking 
of that person's delay in Paris to Captain Wentworth. I 
determined, now that the time of my emancipation was so 
near, to make our consul my medium as well with regard 
to Mr. Gerald Stanbury, whose impetuosity I had dreaded 
too much to risk my safety earlier, on the hazard of his dis- 
cretion. 

I wrote to Mr. Stanbury, therefore, immediately entreat- 
ing him to satisfy my mind in regard to the welfare of Mabel 
and Mrs. Austin and giving him my address at Savannah, 
to the care of General Curzon. I told him why I had dropped 
my father's name for a season retaining only that of my 
mother (conferred on me at the font), and begged him to 
assist me in preserving my incognita until the time of my 
majority should arrive. 

I knew that for the few intervening weeks, between the 
receipt of my letter and the fulness of time, he could com- 
mand himself to reticence. But I should have been appre- 
hensive of a volcanic outburst, had the destined delay been 
longer. I ended by requesting him to meet me in my fath- 
er’s house on the day of my majority, there to share my 
triumph and the confusion of my enemy. For still the 
Judaic spirit abode with me (so utterly vanquished now by 
the grace of God), and the thought of my revenge was al- 
most as sweet to my soul as the hope of my happiness. I 
heard the cymbal sound above the full orchestra. 

What stirred me like the song of Deborah, “that grand, 
tumultuous poem,” as Wordsworth called it, full of the ebb 
and flow of war, the tidal grandeur of the avenger’s tri- 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


373 


umph ! Had I been born in those days, I too might have 
been hard, cruel, remorseless as Esther in the pursuit of 
my revenge, and borne with smiles like Judith the head of 
Holofernes in a charger ; or driven like Jael the tent-nail 
into the temples of Sisera. From this God saved me, yet I 
have often felt that my being was an anachronism. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

t BOUT this time a necessity arose on Madame La- 
vigne’s part, which she thought I alone could meet 
in her stead and on this point we met in counsel and 

f joined issue. Unable herself from indisposition, 
# which still confined her to her own apartments, to 
attend to her summer shopping in Savannah, she 
begged me to go in her place and select the clothing 
of her daughters, a matter with her of much choice and con- 
sideration. Style and fashion were her harmless hobbies. 
She had never lost sight of her New Orleans training, and the 
memory of her rare and elegant trousseau had been her 
guiding star through the clouds of her toilette simplicity 
and necessitated immurement at Lesdernier. 

There was question, too, of mourning for herself and 
elder daughters to be worn for Mrs. Favrand. That this 
might be of the finest texture and most recherche mode, was 
her especial desire. It was a point of honor with her that 
she from whom their fortune came, should be correspond- 
ingly deplored ; and no expense, or pains, or taste, were to 
be spared in the selection of material and the fashioning of 
garments for this purpose. 

So Marion and I were deputed, under guard of Major 
Fa /rand and Mr. Gregory (the latter again admitted to out- 
side toleration), to proceed to Savannah and acquit our- 
selves worthily of this important commission. One that I 
undertook, I confess, with zeal and pleasure, for any change 
promised relief to my spirit from the almost insupportable 
gloom which in the brightness of its fortunes overshadowed 
for me the abode of Beauseincourt. 


3?4 


MIRIAM 1 S MEMOIRS. 


I understood now what I had only felt before, the wierd 
wisdom of that striking portraiture of despair in the remaik- 
able book called Vathek, typed by the burning heart, be- 
neath the ordinary guise of humanity. The halls of Eblis 
seemed to me renewed in the once peaceful abode into which 
my strange fortunes had cast me, bound and powerless 
through the irresistible force of circumstance. 

It was summer now in that region, and our journey was to 
be prosecuted by slow stages, in the old-fashioned, heavy 
coach, with its clumsy horses, that represented the estab- 
lishment of Beauseincourt, topped with its dashing coach- 
man and tiny tiger, arrayed in woe-begone, faded livery, no 
longer relevant to its brilliant fortunes. 

“ We will change all that soon,” said Walter Lavigne, 
with a slight, almost supercilious, smile curling his lips as 
he stood at sunrise on the granite steps of his paternal man- 
sion and surveyed the approaching equipage for which 
Marion and I stood waiting in the hall. 

It was a very expressive little bit of soliloquy, accom- 
panied by an impatient shake of the small, beautifully 
placed head, covered as this was with truly hyacinthine 
curls of golden brown hair, that gleamed in the red rays of 
the morning sun falling'around him, like a halo. 

“ May that nimbus prove prophetic of his fortunes ! ” I 
inly prayed, as his sweet, bright face was turned to me 
flushed with the suggestive train of thought and promise 
that the dilapidation of ancient trophies had given rise to. 

“You must help us choose our new livery, Miss Harz, 
you have so much more taste than we hermits and sailors 
could possibly possess. And King deserves better raiment 
in his sovereign estate. What shall it be ? Lincoln green, 
or Mazarine blue, with a gold hatband and cockade in either 
case, or simply chocolate brown ? But there is no time to 
decide now. I see the trunks are lashed on, and King is 
cracking his whip impatiently. Steady, boys, steady,” to 
the horses, restive from want of exercise. “ Now get in 
first, Miss Harz. Sylphy, where is the lunch-basket ? Why 
you must have forgotten Favrand and Gregory in your es- 
timate, and prepared to entertain canary birds ! They will 
join you at the great gate in that notable tandem of the 
Major’s, and you will enter Savannah in style. Queens 
with outriders ! Don’t forget my watch-key, Marion,” as 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


375 


he handed her in. Happy people attach such consequence to 
trifles ! 

“ I shall attend to it, and all else, be sure, and you, in 
turn, must take care of mother, Walter. She must take 
her tonic regularly, remember. Besides you must read to 
her whenever Madge is engaged, that book of essays, you 
know. And if Mr. Vernon is here,” faltering and coloring 
a little, then gaining sudden courage to proceed,” entreat 
him kindly, for my sake, dear brother. She buried her face 
a moment on his shoulder, and kissing each other affection- 
ately they parted ostensibly. But we found the light- 
hearted fellow at the gate, hatless when we arrived there 
and out of breath, for he had run rapidly across the lawn to 
open it himself and say a merry word or two before he lost 
sight of us again. We saw him standing on the massive 
gate-post as we turned into the road, like a statue of youth- 
ful expectation, rather than hope (for the coming guest 
Prosperity was already on his way — a certainty, not a 
dream), poised in his graceful, joyous beauty, where once 
a great unsightly granite ball had rested ; now broken and 
lying in the grass covered with green mould and moss, never 
to be reinstated ; a mere plaything henceforth for time. 

** He is so delightful ! ” I said, “ I have never known any 
one with so fresh and breezy a nature, so thoroughly gifted 
with the power of enjoyment ! A rare gift in itself ;” and 
I murmured the first lines of Shelley’s sweet strain irre- 
sistibly, — 


“ Rarely, rarely coraest thou, 
Spirit of delight I” 


while Marion demurely read over her mother’s memoran- 
dum in her practical, patient way, noting every item. 



















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BOOK SIXTH. 


“ My solitude is solitude no more 
But peopled with the furies I ” 

Byron’s Manfred. 

Avaunt ! and quit my sight. Let the earth hide thee ; 

Hence, horrible shado.w I Unreal mockery, hence 1 ” 

MACBETH. 


“ These are foul vapors, Aureole. Nought beside 
The effect of watching, study, weariness.” 

Browning’s Paracelsus. 


“ Mistrust yourself, 

Mistrust the judgment you pronounce on him, 
He is old, quiet, kind, and densely stupid.” 




Browning’s Pippa passas. 


4 The curse of heaven lies upon our house, 

‘Tis dedicate to ruin. Even me 
My father’s guilt drags with it to perdition. 

My souls’s benighted, I no longer can 
Distinguish the right track. Mourn not for me 
My destiny will quickly be decided.” 

Schiller’s Death of Wallenstein. 


“ You see how blood, 

Must wash the blot away. To the vain world 
All’s gules again I You hold our ’scutcheon up 
No blot upon it i Name and fame are yours : 

Vengeance is God’s, not man’s. Remember me .” 

The Blot on the ’Scutcheon.— Browning. 


'* And as when passing from the wrecks it doomed 
Desolate sets in deeps of clouds, Orion, 

The grand destroyer , went his way forlorn 
Through glimmering darkness.” 

Bulwer’s Lost Tales of Miletus. 




book: sixth. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

f NSTEAD of one week, the intended limit of our visit 
when we left “ Lesdernier,” a fortnight, passed in Sa- 
vannah, went by like a dream. A few days of indis- 

f position on Marion’s part had delayed our shopping 
expedition on our first arrival. After this was accom- 
plished, the rites and snares of hospitality detained us, 
not unwilling to be so fettered. 

General Curzon’s house was the nucleus of a delightful 
society, in the midst of which he moved, the cynosure of all 
eyes, the man of heart, and brain, and culture, as well as of 
wealth and influence ; truly “le vieu airne ; ” for on him was 
conferred that gift of magnetism, without which no man can 
truly be called popular. 

It was evening when we reentered the quiet gate at 
Beauseincourt, and when we reached the house the crescent 
moon was riding high above the tree-tops ; still the bland 
radiance of the summer sunset disputed the sceptre of night 
and the stars broke out one by one, like guests that come 
too early to a festival. 

Standing like a motionless fixture of the spot, a statue 
guarding the vestibule, perhaps, from intrusion, on the 
broad, granite steps that led to the front door, was that 
same graceful figure we had seen poised like an acrobat on 
the great stone gate-post, all life and joyous animation as 
we left the grounds of Beauseincourt. 

Even in the imperfect light I saw the change that had 
passed over it as visibly in its expressive outlines as we be- 
hold a bird droop his pinions, before he falls to the ground, 

( 379 ) 


380 


MIRIAMS MEMOIRS. 


under the dart of the archer, instead of closing them for a 
voluntary descent. The mournful voice, the feeble greeting 
confirmed my instantaneous expression that Walter was ill 
at ease. Where was the ringing tone ? Where the sailor- 
like heartiness of hand and manner, the bouyant demeanor 
of two weeks before ? Where the expected welcome ? 

He helped us mechanically to descend from the coach and 
scarcely noticed the outstretched hand of King, his foster 
brother, with his grinning “How’s you, Marster Walter? 
how’s all at home ? ” the stereotyped negro greeting for 
such occasions. He silently escorted us up the steps and 
into the empty hall, through which the broken skylight 
cast some lurid, crimson beams of departing day. One of 
these fell on his face and I saw that it was pale and locked, 
and that he looked like his own spectre as one might im- 
agine i£. Had he been ill ? What had befallen him ? 

I paused at the foot of the staircase, which Marion lightly 
ascended to her mother’s chamber, for Madame Lavigne was 
still an invalid we knew from letters received in our ab- 
sence, nor had Marion in her girlish eagerness for home, ob- 
served Walter as closely as I had. Mr. Gregory had gone 
home with Major Favrand and we two were alone in the 
hall, and still I lingered. 

“ What is the matter, Walter ? ” I asked, at last. “ What 
has gone wrong ? Is your mother ill ? ” 

“No, no, no, nothing of the sort ; you can satisfy your- 
self, very soon of that, however,” pausing abruptly with his 
hand to his brow. 

“ Madge, Bertie, then ? the children ? ” 

He shook his head mutely at every several enquiry. 

“ All well,” “ all happy, I believe, which is better ; 
may they remain so ! ” he said, at length. 

“You are ill yourself then, Walter, or is it, is it, your 
father ? ” 

God knows had I loved that man for whom I enquired, 
like my own life, instead of shrinking from his very shadow 
as I did, my heart could not have beat more wildly, my voice 
dropped more suddenly, than when I asked that question ; 
nor could my interest have been greater in the reply, long 
waited for, before it came, slowly, huskily at last from the 
young, laboring breast. 

“Yes, it is he ; but ask me no more just now, Miss Harz. 
Come to me presently. I know not what to think, to dread, 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


381 


what to believe yet. You can help to enlighten me, per- 
haps, by the grace of God ; you only.” 

He turned away with a suppressed groan, and disappeared 
in the shadow. Spell-bound, aghast, I stood, rooted to the 
spot, feeling at that moment an ominous foretaste of horror, 
my hand still resting on the massive baluster, unconscious 
of thought or time for many minutes, when I heard the 
voice of Bertie calling me from above, and I ascended the 
staircase mechanically. 

The scene that met my view when I entered Madame 
Lavigne’s chamber was one surely calculated to dispel any 
fears that might have possessed me with regard to her hap- 
piness or that of her daughters. It appeared to be one 
of unmixed domestic felicity. 

Around the arm-chair of their mother, smiling in the beati- 
tude of her nearly completed recovery and novel prospects, 
and the joy of our return, the group of girls was clustered, 
all but Bertie, who led me by the hand towards it, very 
quietly now, after having nearly smothered me with em- 
braces at the head of the staircase. Marion was unfolding 
a rich, black, heavily fringed, Canton crape shawl, which she 
had brought for her mother by W alter’s especial order, for al- 
ready several of the cartons we had entrusted to Sylphy’s 
care, were in process of examination, and that worthy 
maiden on her knees, before another, of larger dimensions, 
was diligently engaged untying its multifarious cords as we 
entered. 

“ Welcome ! my dear Miriam,” said Madame Lavigne, 
extending her arms to me. ** See, I cannot rise, I am a 
living counter piled with goods ;” embracing me fondly, 
as did Madge, Laura, and Louey in turn. 

In the arms of the two last, I left great wax dolls I had 
bought them ; the “ Rose,” and the Blanche of their dreams, 
one a radiant blonde in blue, the other a brilliant brunette 
in pink ; young* ladies who had come from New York, I as- 
sured them, on the last packet ; a statement that greatly 
enhanced the value of the visitors in their eyes. Nothing 
quite so recherche and beautiful had ever before graced 
their repertoire of dolls, and they hastened to enthrone 
them as queens of that establishment. 

All this was in vivid contrast to what I had left below in 
the dim and dreary hall; the disconsolate young man, 
over whom a blight had seemed to fall as suddenly as it 


382 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


drops upon a flower in one night in the time of frost. Again 
I watched wistfully and narrowly every face, every tone, to 
find some traces of congenial, if hidden, feeling in the group 
before me. But the illumination which Felicite instituted 
in honor of our arrival, revealed only countenances beaming 
with delight and expectation, and from what I knew of 
those open natures, I was convinced, after my survey, that 
Walter was alone in his despair, for such indeed seemed the 
nature of his unexplained sorrow, the dark and bitter source 
of which I trembled to conjecture. 

“ How is your father, Madge ?' ” I asked, as carelessly as 
I could, while we stood apart conversing, after the first, 
clamorous greetings were over. 

“ Oh, about as usual ; busy about nothing, half his time, 
the rest reading or dreaming in his library, of which he has 
made, since mother’s illness, you know, “ parlor, bedroom, 
and hall,” like the cobbler in the old song ‘ who lived in a 
stall/ We see less of him, of course, than ever. Three or 
four times a day he comes and solemnly taps at mother’s 
room door, enquires of her health, then vanishes again into 
thin air. He even eats alone, most of the time. He is the 
most spectral old gentleman I ever have been acquainted 
with, the most unsocial i ” 

" And Walter ? do you think he is quite well Madgo ? He 
lookedbadly to me, as well as I could see in the twilight.” 

“ No, he is not quite well evidently. He misses ‘the 
sea, the sea, the open sea,’ I imagine, in this cooped up soli- 
tude of ours. Moreover he misses Mr. Wentworth, and did 
miss Mr. Gregory and you while you were gone, and cheer- 
ful Major Favrand of whom he is very fond. When I say 
cheerful, I don’t mean it as a reproach at all, one might as 
well revile a katydid for clamoring forevermore about his 
* broken bottle/ as our bouyant relative for laughing and 
talking continually even in the depth and newness of his 
affliction. By the bye, what sort of a beau did you find Mr. 
Gregory ? ” twisting her guard-chain nervously. 

“ Quite attentive enough to satisfy reasonable people. 
We had others, remember,” I replied, carelessly. 

“ Oh, I can’t doubt that for one moment,” speaking ner- 
vously. “ Mr. Vernon has been here quite often of late, too. 
I like him very much on closer acquaintance ; but, I own, 1 
can’t quite make him out.” 

“ He is no mystery, Madge, notwithstanding.” 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


383 


“ I know you are his friend, Miss Harz ; I know how ,; — 

Here all further parley was cut short by the bustling en- 
trance of Felicite with the te^-tray, for Marion and myself, 
supper having been discussed before our arrival, and our 
long delayed coming being a matter of some uncertainty on 
that particular evening. 

As no occasion presented itself for an especial descent to 
the lower story that evening, 1 determined to put off an in- 
terview with Walter, till the following morning and went 
early to my chamber with my usual room-mate, Bertie. She 
was soon sleeping profoundly ; indeed her repose was 
ever more like lethargy than common slumber, and her ap- 
pearance when asleep, as I think I have said before, that of 
statuesqe tranquillity. She had been sleeping in her moth- 
er’s chamber, too, I knew, during my absence, and was glad 
to get back to the old quiet nest once more, undisturbed 
by the coming and going of servants and children. Her 
slumber seemed evenm ore than usually profound on this 
occasion. • 

I was too uneasy to repose at first. Fatigue, as it ever 
did, had rendered me nervous and restless. Such a crowd 
of images filled my brain, that in self-defence I went to the 
light, and tried to read, and thus induce slumbrous inclina- 
tion by substituting one excitement for another. 

_ The book, I remember, was the exquisite “ Evangel me,” 
then newly published, and I had succeeded fully in fixing 
my attention when I heard my name distinctly called from 
the lower gallery in the voice of Walter Lavigne. 

- “ Miss Harz ! Miss Harz ! ” in a loud whisper of eager 
entreaty as it seemed to me. “ Come down for one mo- 
ment, impossible, — one only/’ and the voice was still. 

I did not, could not, hesitate when, after an interval, the 
prayer was repeated. I lost no time in throwing on a light 
wrapper over my bed-gown, and thrusting my bare feet into 
slippers, went quietly out of the open door into the balmy 
night, and crossing the gallery to the stairway, soon found 
myself by the side of Walter Lavigne. The library windows 
that gave on this lower portico were open, and I saw within 
by the light of the lamp, the tall form of Colonel Lavigne 
moving restlessly up and down the apartment. The gallery 
itself was only partially distinct in the clear starlight. The 
crescent moon was dropping behind the trees, yet I could 
see in its waning light the pale face of the young man as he 
j 


384 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


turned toward me, almost imploringly, ghastly white and 
convulsed with agony. 

“ It has been thus for three nights,” he whispered, as he 
laid his clammy hand on mine and drew me on, “ I cannot 
persuade him to undress or lie down, and I must not, dare 
not leave him. Perhaps the presence of a stranger may do 
him good, restrain him. Have you nerve enough to en- 
counter him '! ” Then after a moment’s pause he whispered, 
“he is drinking fearfully.” 

“ No, Walter,” I said, drawing back, much relieved by 
this announcement which changed the character of my ap- 
prehensions, and seemed to cover the whole ground of the 
young man’s wretchedness, for I knew his keen and honor- 
able susceptibility to shame. “No, Walter, you must ex- 
cuse me, indeed ! I have not the nerve for such an emer- 
gency. Send for Doctor Durand, Major Favrand, male 
friends ; their counsel and experience will be worth every- 
thing to you.” 

“Doctor Durand! Major Favrand ! of all men. Oh! if 
you did but know ! ” and he clasped his hands wildly across 
his brow. “No, you must come, if you wish to save me 
from madness. He refers even to you sometimes, perhaps 
you can explain ” — he hesitated, and for my part I trem- 
bled visibly. 

“ No, no, dear young friend, I can be of no service in any 
way. I am singularly afraid of inebriates, and woman is 
out of place here. 1 have never been accustomed to any- 
thing of the kind. I am totally inexperienced, I assure you. 
Let me go back ; besides that, how would he feel, were he 
to come to the consciousness that I had seen him in such a 
situation ? he a proud man ? You have faithful servants, 
Walter, call King and Jura.” 

“ They must not hear,” he whispered, “ no, not for 
worlds ! It is too horrible,” closing his hand on mine like 
a vice ; “ this fancy or whatever it is that possesses him. 
1 know not what to think ! If Wentworth were here, I 
should appeal to him at once for aid, and to me you stand 
as his representative. You have strength, feeling, discre- 
tion, and,” putting his hand to his head, “ I know not 
where else to turn. My mother, my sisters, must be 
screoned ; and you will help me do this, I know, for the 
sake of all ; don’t leave me Miriam ! ” catching my hand 
imploringly, then dropping it nervelessly. 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


385 


“ What shall I do then to serve you? Command me* 
Walter ; 77 I said, much moved. 

“ Stand quietly in the shadow until he comes. Then we 
shall see ! My God 1 if Bertie were to hear him I She is 
in your chamber now, 1 believe.” 

The tightened pressure of his hand upon my arm pro- 
claimed his excitement, as in another moment Colonel La- 
vigne emerged from the library, wearing his worn, brocaded 
dressing-gown, his feet in slippers, with hair wildly disor- 
dered, and his long, thin, collarless throat divested of the 
stock which usually embraced it. He was laughing hor'ri- 
i bly to himself and muttering as he advanced, altogether a 
fearful spectacle ! 

“ It is delirium tremens, Walter, no doubt ; I have heard 
of that dreadful malady. He ought to have immediate ad- 
vice, 77 I said, shrinking involuntarily. 

“ Judge for yourself first/ 7 he whispered, “ whether such 
revelations or ravings, call them what you will, ought to be 
committed, carelessly, to the conjectures of a physician. I 
l repose this confidence in you as solemnly as I would lay 
my dead in their grave ; be you as silent as that resting 
place. 77 

Shivering with nervous apprehension I watched the mo- 
tions of Colonel Lavigne. lie was advancing towards me 
now, and I clung to one of the columns of the gallery and 
leaned my head against it, still sustained by Walter’s 
grasping hand. 

Hamlet himself had never a wilder mien, when he lis- 
tened to the ghost, than this noble youth, hearkening to the 
unconscious revelations of this madman, this weir-wolf of 
his, in paternal guise ; this father he had loved so well and 
revered so entirely, devoted now to shame and execration. 

“ See, where she goes again ! 77 said the madman, point- 
ing forth with his long, lithe finger, and straining his eyes in 
the same direction. “ Why doesn’t the old black hell-cat 
take better care of her ? Drunk again, eh ? But she did 
not smell the morphine, I suppose ; how should she ? Get 
up, I tell you, Sabra, and take the poor wretch home. She 
might as well die in her bed. I never knew how much she 
ate* of the melon, 77 muttering low, “ enough to give the 
devil his own, though, it seems. My God ! what a monster, 
an accident, not an intention ! Poh, poh, Celia, don’t take 
j it so hard 1 Doctor Lucas, forsooth 1 what does he know 


24 


386 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


about a disease like this ? It would take Durand to scent 
the truth ! The old medical fox, off the track this time, 
though! Ha! ha! Asiatic cholera! Asiatic cholera, in- 
deed ! Humbug ! I know this disease of old, it is a pecu- 
liar one, but I understood it, and so did the old man,” 
laughing low, “ but he was tough and wary, and possessed 
the antidote. Well, well ! what a revenge he took, ‘ no- 
blesse oblige/ though. Silent, silent, for honor’s sake, as 
the tomb, all the while ! Yet I baffled him, at last ! Ha, 
ha ! ” And he paced the gallery with long and rapid strides, 
so far without observing us, laughing horribly. 

“ Go to him, Walter,” I entreated, hiding my face, “per- 
suade him to go in ; this is too, too horrible ! ” 

Low as the whisper was, this time he caught it, turned, 
and swiftly advanced with his hands behind him, peeringly 
towards us, bending forward as he came. 

“ Whom have you there, Bellevue ? Is that you, Miriam 
Harz, you ubiquitous little Yankee ? Come out of the 
shadow, girl ! and let me look right into your truth-telling 
eyes ! ” 

And that vice-like grasp again dragged me forth by the 
arm, to confront the lamp by the window, — a trembling 
wretch, gasping like a guilty thing in the hand of the 
righteous ! 

“Father! father!” remonstrated Walter, as he indig- 
nantly strove to remove his hand from its clutch. “ This is 
too bad, sir ! Desist ! desist instantly ! ” 

“ Let him alone,” I said, as calmly as I could, recovering 
myself by a strong impulse, “ Colonel Lavigne would not 
injure me for the world. He knows his friends. Be quiet, 
for God’s sake, Walter ! ” I whispered, “ you will only 
make things worse, don’t exasperate him. Patience and 
courage now ! ” 

“ Little liar ! you are no friend of mine, but an infernal 
foe ! ” and he shook me slightly. “ Who locked the gate 
that day ? and why did the dog carry the key to you before 
my face? Answer me ! ” again shaking me, spasmodically. 

“ Colonel Lavigne, this is unmanly,” I remonstrated. 

“ Well, I believe it is,” laughing low and relaxing his 
hold upon my arm, deused unmanly. But I am all un- 
nerved, somehow or other, unstrung to-night, as you see,” 
passing his hands over his brow and eyes. “ And that 
wretch ivill follow me 3 You are a very good girl, Miriam 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


387 


Harz, in your commonplace way and know how to hold 
your tongue, I believe. But those eyes of yours tell tales, 
out of school, sometimes . I have seen them grow as big 
as saucers (I have, upon my word, Walter, without exag- 
geration) just straining at me. The girl does not under- 
stand my dual nature. There are two of us, spiritual Siam- 
ese twins ! That is the truth of it. Two Prosper Lavignes, 
both in one body : one is an evil fiend, the other, a prince- 
ly gentleman," — the last words, slowly, sadly spoken. 

“ Oh, father, father ! " and he moaned aloud. 

“ Well, it can't be helped now, you see ; it is what the 
French call a ‘ fait accompli .' Isn't that the right accent, 
little schoolmarm ? Oh, these Yankees ! they find out 
everything and always carry their point in time. But I 
will represent you as an abolitionist, madam," speaking 
fiercely and shaking his head, “ if you dare to open your 
lips ; denounce you, and swear that you have been tamper- 
ing with my slaves ! Do you hear that ? " lifting his long, 
lithe forefinger before me threateningly, “ lay it to heart, 
madam, or you may be burnt alive yet, like some of your 
puritanic progenitors, for a witch." 

“ Let me go now, Walter," I entreated, “ I cannot bear 
this scene a moment longer. I will not bear it. I am faint 
and heart-sick." 

“No, no, not until you look at her once more ! " ex- 
claimed Colonel Lavigne, catching my low appeal to Walter, 
“There, there she goes ! " he whispered, huskily, closing 
his hand tightly again upon my arm, “ she had no soul, you 
know, to save ; no vital flame ; only a will-o'-the-wisp ex- 
istence, and that essence will glide about this vicinity forev- 
er, having no appointed 'biding place, My God ! drive 
her away, girl! give her anything she wants. Melons? 
why, of course she shall have as many as she can devour. 
Gold too ! if she cares for it," laughing feebly. “ Any- 
thing, anything for peace ! " 

Frozen with horror I stood and listened, though his grasp 
was loosened now. 

“ But if that were all ! Celia, Celia ! cousin, got out of 
your grave ! Don't say I laid you there ! Be just, be mer- 
ciful, the blow was not meant for you. Oh, darling, darling I 
it was weak and childlike to lament so." His whole man- 
ner was changed now, and his voice one of exquisite pathos 
for a moment. “ Relief for all, if you could have thought 


288 


Mini AW S MEMOIRS. 


it ! You know, my dear,” speaking fast and sharply again 
“that necessity has no law, and you called me your brother 
in dying ! I shall never forget that, nor the look, never, 
never ! Hot coals, of course ! Oh, God, Cain also was a 
brother ! yet he slew Abel ! ” and he wreathed his long, 
thin arms about his head and groaned aloud. 

“ Lead him away, Walter, lie is relaxing now. Give 
him laudanum ; it is best. Let him sleep and forget ! Ilis 
brain has been overtaxed of late. These fancies possess 
him, you see instead of the ordinary ones of snakes and 
demons. Be comforted, dear Walter, attach no importance 
to what he says, it is unmeaning ; but keep it to yourself, 
you are right there. And I will assist 3 r ou to the utmost ; 
be firm. Good-night, God bless you. Yes, you mast spare 
me now.” 

I left him to his weary, woeful charge and self-appointed 
vigil and buried my face in my pillow, weeping the long 
night hours away. 

I was too ill the next morning to leave my chamber — ill 
with one of those nervous chills and rigors that seemed to 
have succeeded the old form of lethargy with me, after ex- 
citement of any kind, and which, thanks to Doctor Durand, 
1 had learned to manage myself. 

Heat is the remedy which usually accomplishes forme the 
most beneficial results, though that chilliness that is felt to 
the very marrow, yields very slowly to its powerful oppo- 
nent. I suppose plants have some such phase of feeling 
when spring influences pervade them, after being frozen up 
all winter, and serpents and other lower vitalities, in rousing 
from torpor as I then experienced. 

Colonel Lavigne was also too much indisposed, Sylphy 
said, to come forth that morning from his immurement, and 
I heard at intervals his low, stormy voice, varied by Wal- 
ter’s pleading intonations, ascend from the library below, 
into my quiet chamber. Towards evening there was a pro- 
found lull, however, and Walter had left him, Marion said, 
at last sleeping quietly, and had himself retired to rest. 

“ They have business together that absorbs them,” Madge 
added, “ and father has overrated his energies, brother 
thinks, and brought on one of his old headaches. He has 
not been to call on mother to-day, and she is quite anxious. 
But you know ‘ Migraine/ is equal to death doom while it 
lasts, even if not dangerous. He will be up and bright to- 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


389 


morrow no doubt. Walter constituted himselt nurse and 
physician with father’s consent and would admit none of 
us to share his labors. * When I suggested Doctor Durand, 
he said, * nonsense, nonsense/ so petulantly that it fright- 
ened me, as peevishness always does from amiable people. 
Adding after a moment, however, as if in apology, ‘ that 
good man has enough riding to do and real disease to cure, 
without being called out of his way for a mere nervous 
headache. You are all much too exacting of him and in- 
considerate for others who are more ill, in this regard, I 
think/ Then he closed the door in my face and betook 
himself to smotherment again in that sealed-up library, where 
I suppose after all, he was of very little use. When I have 
Migraine myself, all I want is peace and darkness until it 
lifts itself off.” 

“ But father is so highstrung,” urged Marion. 

“I am thankful to be a Benoit/’ said Madge, demurely, 
“ more comfortably commonplace ! ” 


CHAPTER XX. 


)T rained that night, I remember, and whether it was 
that some impurity was washed out of the atmosphere 
^ in this way, or that the pleasant freshness of the 
morning gave us all renewed life, the breakfast table 
was that day, for the first time the rendezvous for all 
the invalids of Beauseincourt. 

The recuperation after sickness in the young and 
strong is a very delightful sensation. It is the “ being born 
again/’ physically, that religious people talk about in an- 
other sense, and renews happiness along with vitality. I 
felt like a new creature as I entered the dining-room on that 
divine morning really the first of summer, and could not re- 
press a little scream of delight, as I saw Madame Lavigne, 
very unexpectedly to me, seated behind the coffee urn once 
more, radiant in smiles and arrayed in a rose-colored em* 


390 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


broidered morning wrapper, peculiarly becoming. Her 
mourning was not yet made up and her invalid condition 
exempted her from its dreariness for a season, fortunately 
for her complexion. 

1 was myself carefully dressed in buff cambric, (a favorite 
and becoming color of mine,) and we two alone relieved the 
sable monotony of the younger and fairer portion of the 
^household. 

“ I hate black,” said Colonel Lavigne, glancing at us 
both approvingly, “ it is only fit for priests and ravens.” 

He seated himself as complacently before his steaks, 
broiled teal ducks and fragrant omelet, as though the en- 
acted horrors of the last few nights had not traced them- 
selves in his haggard face and left undying records in the 
minds of others. 

“ But where is W alter ? ” he asked, looking round a little 
anxiously. “ Has Bellevue overslept himself,” (for so he 
affectedly called Walter of late), “ on this first day of 
his birth month ? In fifteen days, ladies, I have the honor 
to inform you, Walter Lavigne will come of age, and,” rub- 
bing his hands, self-gratulatingly, “we shall then proceed 
to put in practice a great political axiom by making the 
majority happy. Our mourning prevents any effusion on 
the part of the minority. The negroes shall on that occa- 
sion enjoy a Roman Saturnalia. And now, what part of 
the duck will you have, Miss Harz ? ” 

Walter entered immediately after this speech and an- 
nouncement, somewhat pallid and languid-looking, and toss- 
ing his hat down on a sofa near him, sat down to table with- 
out a word. This was very unusual for him, so courteous, 
so cheerful usually as he was, to one and all. 

“ You are not well, my son,” said Colonel Lavigne, 
11 your eye is heavy. What ails you, Bellevue ? ” 

“ No, sir, not at all well, 1 sat too late on the porch, in 
the damp, last night, I fancy. I am a little chilly this 
morning and have a bad headache,” leaning his head on his 
hand, “ but it will pass off', probably.” 

“ Walter, my son,” said Colonel Lavigne, with a com- 
posure that could not have been assumed, “ how often must 
I warn you of the danger of night-damps in this climate. 
Go directly and take quinine. You will find powders 
weighed and labelled in the medicine chest ; here is the 
key,” handing it to King, “ and guard against congestion, 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


391 


very rife at this period. Your life is not your own any 
longer, it belongs now to your family. You understand your 
own value now.” 

“He is the golden calf,” whispered Bertie, “or the 
golden goose, which ? ” unheard by all save Madge and 
myself. “ We must make a ring and dance around him, be- 
fore Aaron comes.” 

The eye of Walter Lavigne dwelt for a moment with an 
expression of relieved astonishment on his father’s face, 
then wandered across the table enquiringly to mine, where 
he must have read a very puzzled expression in response, 
and finally dropped upon the antique spoon wherewith he 
was stirring his coffee languidly. 

“ Let me take my coffee first, and I will obey you after- 
wards, father,” was all he said in answer. 

“ Coffee is in itself a specific against chills,” observed his 
mother ; “ finish it, my. son, while it is strong and hot.” 

“ He rose early from table and as he passed my chair 
bent down and whispered, “ Can I see you a few minutes 
on the gallery, after breakfast ? ” His breath was hot on 
my cheek. I bowed in token of assent, and he left the 
room. He must have sought the medicine his father recom- 
mended on his way to his chamber, for a few moments 
elapsed before we heard a heavy fall on the platform at the 
head of the stair. King sprang up the steps, with the speed 
of lightning, and found his young master lying senseless on 
the floor, with the powders in his hand. The over-taxed boy 
had fainted. 

There succeeded a week’s illness. Fever, delirium, en- 
sued, fortunately of that low, muttering kind which betrays 
nothing, and is yet so much more appalling than out-spoken 
mania ; then great and complete exhaustion threatening 
the citadel of life itself, and after all this was over, the calm 
of approaching convalescence stole over the scene, when 
the cords of existence are being slowly gathered up again, 
by the hand of health — slowly yet surely. 

Even I who so loathed his crime and its consequences, 
pitied Colonel Lavigne, during the two days when the ver- 
dict of Doctor Durand, the wary pilot of this fever craft, 
hung suspended above his head, like the sword of Dam- 
ocles. 

He sat like a statue of woe or moved like an “ dme dam- 
nee ,” about the house, without a purpose. Yet if he remem- 


392 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


bered aught of his own mental aberrations, he proved himself 
still a master in self-command ; for no expression of his with 
regard to the past or reference in connection therewith, ever 
so remotely hinted at such consciousness, then or there- 
after. The oracle was dumb. 

When Walter was better he sent for me to come to him 
alone, under the pretence of requesting me to read to him. 
The book was never opened, but instead, I sat an hour con- 
versing with him calmty on that fearful hallucination of his 
father’s, which had prostrated him for a season, and which 
still recurred to his mind as a matter involved in mystery 
and requiring elucidation. His was the initiative. 

“ It is my earnest advice to you, Walter,” I counselled, 
li to drop the whole matter, mentally even, from this hour ; 
your father evidently retains no consciousness of what has 
passed, which is in itself a proof of the chimerical nature of 
the fancy. He is a nervous, eccentric man, whose brain 
has been highly wrought by the pressure of mixed emotions ; 
and what we heard and beheld we must try and consider 
only as an enacted vision. Which of us is there who has 
not dreamed of monstrous things ? Which of us is there 
who has not been calmly guilty in his slumbers of deeds any 
one of us would have shrank from in our waking moments ? 
ay, viewed with loathing ! ” 

“ Yet look at Lady Macbeth, her dream was truth,” he 
murmured, “ and Shakspeare is the master 1 ” 

“ Let me give you an instance in point,” I said evasively. 
11 I dreamed not long ago that I was walking by your side 
on the banks of ‘ Minorca Lake - in the swamp of Lesdernier, 
which you once so vividly described to me. In my mental 
vision the lilies from which it takes its name were all in 
bloom, covering it in patches, as it appeared, with their dark 
green leaves and large, chalice-shaped, snow-wLite blossoms, 
more beautiful and delicate by far than the specimens you 
have shown me. There was one great cypress tree near the 
shore standing knee deep in water, throwing a black shadow 
straight before it. The rest was all in light, dazzling light 
it seemed to me, and beneath this tree and in its shadow, a 
little boat was moored, containing one man, whose face we 
could not see, he kept it so near the water as he bent over 
the boat, intent on something below. Ilis back too was 
turned to the shore. We stood some time looking at him 
carelessly. Then you said, ‘ 1 have half a mind to cut that 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


393 


rope and let him drift out on the lake ; see I he has neither 
oars nor helm, and could never get back to shore ag'ain. 
There is, too, aleak in the boat, and lie would sink presently ; 
this would be such fun ! ’ I encouraged you to do it, call- 
ing it a brave deed, which in my distorted sense, with or 
without reason, it truly seemed to be. I then saw you draw 
3 T our knife, cut the rope and he drifted out, unimpeded by 
the lily pads through which the sharp keel cut, and which 
closed behind it as it passed, like water. Presently the boat 
began to settle down. We knew that he was sinking, and 
he stood up and stretched his arms to the shore, entreating 
aid and laughing horribly, and then disappeared from sight. 

“ By and by the vision changed. You and I were in the 
little boat, looking down into the clear water between the 
tufted lilies, and far below with his hands crossed and his 
face looking upward as if in sleep, the man lay life like, and 
we knew that he was drowned. But we felt no pity nor 
remorse. * It was a good deed/ you said, ‘ else how would 
we ever have got possession of the boat, and seen the 
lilies ? ’ 

“ And I answered, * Well done, Walter/ forgetting in the 
inconsistency of my dream that you had loosened and set 
adrift the boat which had gone down too with its solitary 
inmate .” 

“ And the man ? ” he asked eagerly. “ Who was the 
man you saw in the water? You saw his face, you say ; 
what was it like ? ” 

I answered without hesitation, “ Oh, but we create faces 
you know in our dreams, just as we do incidents. I only re- 
lated the dream to show you what mental obliquity, sleep 
sometimes engenders. Delirium does the same. * Mania 
Impotoe ’ most of all. What person of sense ever attaches 
the slightest importance to the serpents, and demons, and 
grinning apes, men see, who have been permeating their 
systems with wine or alcoholic liquors ? ” Thus persuading 
him against my own convictions, I continued for a time me- 
chanically. What better could I do ? 

“ That is true,” he said musingly, at the end of my dis- 
course ; “ and now once for all, my dear Miss Harz, let us 
dismiss this subject from all consideration, and talk of ours 
forever. The films of approaching illness, no doubt deceived 
me and magnified what might else have seemed explainable 
on common grounds. It is so very recent a thing for my 


394 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


father, who has sat down to his good wine all his life in mod- 
eration, to indulge to excess in drinking, that the very fact 
that he did so was in itself almost maddening to me. But 
my mother’s protracted illness and his necessary absence 
from her soothing society, and these late dreadful family 
occurrences, as you say, his very elation about my prospects 
perhaps, acting upon his constitutional view of morbid mel- 
ancholy, an inheritance from his father — may no doubt 
account for everything that has transpired. I love my father 
unusually ; I believe, more than all else. I am almost ashamed 
to acknowledge this, since my mother is so much more per- 
fect ; but he made me his companion from childhood, and 
threw himself singularly upon my affection. I cannot remem- 
ber ever to have received a harsh word from his lips ; all the 
scolding and punishment, what little there was of either, 
devolved upon my poor mother, who never liked to do the 
one or the other, but who, to save him trouble and distress, 
would undertake anything in the shape of an unpleasant 
duty, you know.” 

“Yes, this is characteristic of her.” 

“ You can understand, then, how I have been pained, 
shocked, and mortified, by this dereliction of his. But he 
has promised me, (I craved this pledge on my knees, Miss 
Harz), never again to lift the poisonous cup to his lips, and 
I know he will keep his word ; he is a man of honor.” 

He faltered. “ It was very bitter for me to depart so far 
from my established line of respectful conduct as to solicit 
this promise and to remind him of its necessity, but I felt it 
a solemn duty and accomplished it.” 

“ All the mother’s sense of duty there, with twice as much 
moral courage ! ” I thought, as I surveyed him admiringly, 
his large, blue eyes ablaze, his lips crimson with emotion. 

“ But you did not allude to those incoherent ravings, he 
himself had probably forgotten, Walter, I trust?” I asked, 
anxiously, eagerly. 

“ No, no, of course not, I consigned all that to silence, as 
lie seemed determined to do, if he remembered it at all — si- 
lence inexorable as death. I must have been mad at the 
moment to call a witness to his proceedings ; but your name 
occured so frequently in his ravings, that I hoped you might 
give me a clue to what seemed so inexplicable else, and you 
must pardon me if I selfishly involved you in my suffering.” 
A moment later he added, “ Your discretion, your honor, 


MIRIAMS MEMOIRS. 


395 

are both beyond a doubt. You will never use these chime- 
ras to his, or our disadvantage ? ” 

“ Never, Walter, rest assured of that. If I had deemed 
your father responsible for his words or opinions, think you 
1 should have borne so calmly his opprobrious epithets ? Per- 
sonal feeling was all swallowed up in pity ! amazement! 
incredulity ! ” 

“ This conversation has lifted a great load from my breast,” 
he said, drawing a long, free breath, and extending his hand 
to me. “ Best of friends, I thank you ! ” and now I believed 
him. Yet, after all, there was something grievous to me in 
these words, spoken as they were in low and broken accents 
at odds with his declaration of relief, that jarred in spite of 
my faith in them, on m}' very heart-strings. 

Before I had time to respond to his remark in any way, 
the door opened softly and Doctor Durand entered, hat and 
riding whip in hand. “ I did not know but you might be 
asleep, Walter, and seeing no one below, came up unbidden. 
How are you, my dear fellow ? Remnant of chicken soup in 
the bowl, I see,” peeping into the tureen; “very encour- 
aging sign ! Don’t overdo it and eat too much now. It is 
a great error to overfeed the convalescent. Relapse and all 
that sort of thing the frequent consequence. Appetite comes 
when nature needs it, don’t urge the old dame. “ Festina 
lente,” my good boy is the best rule in the world for the pa- 
tient on the road to recovery. But here is that infallible 
clairvoyant medical sister of mine : she knows all this by 
intuition, I’ll warrant. How is she to-day ? ” (and he laid 
down his hat and whip to shake hands with me.) To which 
accusation of magical insight I made laughing dissent, call- 
ing him all sorts of merry names in return, for our mutual 
amusement and Walter’s distraction ; each more compli- 
mentary than the last. “ Charlatan,” Sangrado,” among 
the rest. 

“ By the by,” said Doctor Durand, sitting down by the 
bed with his fingers on Walter’s wrist, “ I must make 
the ‘ amende honorable ’ in poor old Sabra’s case, while 1 
think of it. She is dying ; I have just left her bedside, 
and her expiring declarations exonerate her completely, 
in my opinion, from the accusations I brought against 
her; you remember them, Miss Harz. Your pulse is very 
good, Walter, this morning. I am altogether pleased with 
your condition ; ” and he settled himself for a talk, but in 


396 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


Buch a position that I could not possibly catch his eye with- 
out shifting my own too suddenly to escape detection. 

“ Do you know, Walter, that I had the hard-heartedness 
to suspect that poor old thing of having poisoned her charge ? 
As to Asiatic cholera, the more I think of that proposition 
of Lucas, the greater ass I am disposed to think him ! The 
demon has not begun his rounds yet, and he never sends 
avant couriers so far ahead, though sometimes he leaves 
evil legacies. There has not been a single parallel or simi- 
lar case to Marcelline’s in this whole district ! ” 

“ Oh, but you might have been right for all that about 
Sabra,” said Walter, raising himself suddenly on one arm, 
with an eager light in his eyes. “ Do tell me what ground 
you have for your suspicions, I am all interest now.” 

“ Lie down then, as a submissive, sick man should, and 
you shall hear. In the first place, the cantelope alone could 
never have caused the unconquerable thirst which is a dis- 
tinctive feature of poison by arsenic, and when rejected 
from the stomach (it ought to have been analyzed then, by the 
by, but such a set of noodle-heads I have never heard of be- 
fore, as met in medical conclave), would have left the system 
in a very different condition. ‘ Imprimis ’ ” — and already 
one finger was laid across the other. 

“For Heaven’s sake, Dr. Durand,” I said with asperity, 
after vainly trying to attract his attention in every possible 
way, (but there are men who are impervious to any hint 
less plain than the famous one of being kicked down stairs, 
and our good Doctor was certainly of this class). “For 
Heaven’s sake, don’t bore us with technicalities. They would 
cause me to relapse were I in Walter’s condition, far sooner 
than chicken soup, I am certain ; and as to your patient, 
don’t 3^ou see he is nervous now ? ” 

“ Well, that is true. I spare you the details, my good 
friend, on such valuable suggestions, and pass to the results. 
I was so convinced at one time that this wretched woman 
had destroyed her charge and nursling, weary to death of 
the horror and monotony contained in her existence, ( for 
even negroes have their choice of employment, you know,) 
and maddened by the liquor she drank, that I questioned her 
about it solemnly and sternly, immediately after announcing 
to her the fact that she had but a few days or even hours 
perhaps to live. She asseverated so fervently and firmly her 
complete ignorance and innocence of the deed, and at the 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


397 


same time her superstitious belief in the interference of 
spirits in this work of destruction that I was obliged to be- 
lieve in her innocence, and reluctantly seek elsewhere for a 
guilty party. Favrand too (who has never had a suspicion 
of this kind, however, and from whom I commanded her to 
religiously conceal her own impressions even,) saw and for- 
gave her in my presence for what he considered gross dere- 
liction from duty alone. 

The poor wretch had, besides her banquet of half ripe 
eantelopes, — which never did the evil, — a crow's dose, no 
doubt — such as our negroes persist in preparing for the 
destruction of the arch-enemy of their roasting ears. The 
corn is just putting up, and it is in that stage it is pulled up 
by the cunning bird which Sambo aimed to destroy. This 
is my conviction. I have never yet se6n a negro who re- 
fused to make a clean breast on a death-bed, and Sabra has 
always passed for a pious woman and been indeed the chief 
consolation in her troubles, of that sweet saint, her mistress. 

“But the most singular part of the whole affair, and it 
shows how far the fetish idea still exists among negroes, I am 
about to tell you. (You will smile, no doubt !) She had sus- 
pended from her neck and hidden in her bosom a button 
which she declares to have been dropped upon her breast 
from the clothes of her old master, Armand Lavigne, as he 
stood that day above her, ‘ as tall as a poplar tree, an' wid 
great white wings 'as she expressed it, *. ready spread for fly- 
in' and callin’ ob Marcelline to go home wid him wore dere 
ain't no more misshaped people, nor ijiots, neider, an' she 
would be jist as pretty as her own dear mother.' And this she 
gave me as her dying pledge of truth and friendship both, 
conjuring me to preserve it forever. I wrapped it in a bit of 
paper and dropped it in my pocket to gratify her and other be- 
lievers in spiritual visitors, and here it is. Behold the 
ghostly card ! " and he handed it to Walter. 

“You see it is of very antique form, an odd affair enough, 
and may have been lying in the grass for an age, just where 
she found it. But what ails you, my dear boy ? The vine- 
gar, Miss Harz ! Good God ! fainting ? This will never do; 
There, lie quite still ; fan him, Miss Harz, if you please ; " 
and he administered some reviving drops that he found on 
the mantel shelf, and which had remained there since they 
were used on the first day of Walter's seizure. 

“ It was that dreadful story," I murmured ; “ why would 


398 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


you persevere ? Don’t you already know the almost morbid 
horror of this whole family on that peculiar subject ? Doctor, 
I warned you before about Bertie. Do be discreet in future.” 

“ Don’t scold then ; your voice is not so sweet as Usual. 
The evil is done this time, and nearly mended. I never 
thought you unamiable until to-day,” a little sharply. 
“ Walter, my dear fellow, are you better ? Miss Harz, ex- 
cuse me,” as he resolutely turned his back upon me. 

Had the Doctor seen the sad and deprecating eyes I 
bent upon him, he surely would have withdrawn his accusa- 
tion, against which I could set up no defence. 

“ Could you but know all,” I thought ; “ but I trust that 
may never be. Better any forfeiture of good feeling than 
such acknowledgment — such insight ! ” 

In the confusion, the button rolled off the bed and was 
forgotten. Unseen by any one I possessed myself of it after 
Dr. Durand had left, which he did as usual, hastily, after his 
sitting was out, and always with a co»sciousness of having 
wronged himself or somebody else by tarrying too long 
in pleasant places ; his poor horse, perhaps the greatest 
sufferer after all, on such occasions, as he urged him no 
doubt up and down hill, to an accelerated pace in order to 
retrieve what is never retrieved without sorrow to some- 
body or something ; time wasted. 

Is there a more repulsive task for the naturally candid and 
open mind than to be constrained to duplicity even in the 
cause of humanity or expediency ? What had I to do with 
all this mesh of misery in which I felt myself inextricably 
tangled ? Fate seemed to be a zoophyte in this case, and to 
reach forth long, filmy fingers wherewith to wrap me around 
and draw me into this vortex of horror, of crime, of igno- 
miny, or concealment ; for between these last two lay the 
fortunes of the household of Beauseincourt. 

That night after the whole house was wrapped in sleep, 
and fenced about by all the mysteries of a guilty wretch, set- 
ting forth on a mysterious errand — of crime or wrong doing 
of some sort, — with shaded lamp in hand, shield on finger, 
and bearing, like the beetle in Cock Robin, my long thread 
and needle about me, (not to make, however, but to save the 
making of a shroud, perhaps,) I stole to the closet under the 
staircase in which I knew Colonel Lavigne kept his hunting 
accoutrements hanging up, and sewed with my own trem- 
bling hands the missing button on his velveteen hunting suit, 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


399 


securely and fast ; then hied me back to bed with a lightened 
heart, and the consciousness of a mission accomplished ! 

After all, what fallacy greater than mere circumstantial evi- 
dence. Had it been my cameo pin, worn I remembered, on 
that morning, that peculiar pin with its head of Sappho, so 
finely graven, and which Gregory had so admired, the pin I 
had lost since in Savannah, from my throat in walking the 
streets ; had it been this brooch (defective as the catch 
proved to have been not long afterwards) which the old 
woman had found in the grass and hoarded, instead of the 
plated button with the wild boar’s head engraven on its 
surface, and the L. V. on the reverse side, what might not 
the conclusion have been ? 

There were, no doubt, other buttons of the same make 
and mould, gracing other hunting-suits of the Lavigne fam- 
ily ; plenty of them on hand, perhaps as heirlooms, al- 
though the fashion was ancient if not obsolete ; but a pin 
like mine, made to order in Italy, and a copy from an old 
bas-relief that my father had fancied and ordered, was not 
likely to be duplicated even in the largest city, far less in 
the remote settlement of Lesderniers. On such slight piv- 
ots as these, 1 repeat again, our fate turns sometimes, for 
good or ill, and thus fallible is human judgment. 

I shivered at the risk my own imagination had arrayed 
before me. 

As to Dr. Durand, his non-recognition of the button in 
question and its peculiar device, as connected with the 
hunting suit of Colonel Lavigne, puzzled me at first, until I 
reflected that although the grooves of their lives ran side by 
side, they were still essentially separate ; and that it was 
perfectly probable that the hard-riding country Doctor, 
dashing along county roads, had never met the easy going 
planter, creeping out with his dogs and gun, on his own 
grounds only in quest of game, and, as was his custom, 
always on foot. 


400 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


NOTE consisting merely of a few lines, reached me 
by the return of the packet in which Captain Went- 



worth had made his voyage to New York, — a note 


vexatious in its very brevity. Why could he not 
^ have risked the repetition of what was lost to me 



by the carelessness of Mr. Gregory, rather than 


have so mystified me, I reflected in my first impa- 


tience. This note expressed only the great anxiety he felt 
to receive a direct answer to the questions contained in 
that which, unconsciously to its writer, lay with the cat- 
fish at Le Noir’s landing, along with the pocket-book of his 
aide, the possibility of the miscarriage of which seemed 
never to have crossed his mind. 

I wrote to him immediately to beg that he would repeat 
these important interrogatories by the very next mail, de- 
tailing to him at the same time the accident to Mr. Grego- 
ry that had deprived me of all clue to his meaning; and 
commenting a little severely on the cool indifference of that 
gentleman with regard to my loss. This note was placed in 
the letter-bag, which, by some strange chance, (the illness 
of Uncle Quimbo, as well as I remember), was conveyed to 
Mauriceville, at the saddle-bow of Mr. Gregory himself (so 
unsuccessful as a Mercury before, so obliging ever), and, 
as if a cruel fate or purpose pursued us both, this letter, 
I learned later, never reached Captain Wentworth. Then 
came an expectant lull, — broken at last by the reception 
of the most inexplicable epistle that ever mystified mortal 
or stirred conjecture to its fountain-head in feminine bosom. 
It ran as follows : — 

“ Two packets have come in from Savannah since my ar- 
rival in New York, and brought me no reply to the impor- 
tant questions I propounded in the note which you must 
long ago have received through the faithful hands of Greg- 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


401 


ory. I greatly fear that the curtness of these queries and 
the severe ordeal through which you have had to pass by 
reason of their accompanying revelation, may have stunned 
you for a season, and so paralyzed your sensibilities (as 
they have wrung my own), that you hesitate to crown our 
sorrow by an avowal of the truth. 

“ Yet the truth, my Miriam, is all that remains to us, and 
for God’s sake, withhold it not, whatever it may cost us. 
Alas ! what grave, if not disastrous consequences, might it 
not have averted if earlier made plain. How proud and 
happy it might have made us once, how bitterly it blights us 
now ! How shall we unwind the cord so closely wrapped 
around our hearts ? How untie the subtle knot that binds 
us to bliss ? How let go the golden past in view of the iron 
future ? Without God’s gracious help and inspiring counsel 
I know not, I confess, how these changes can be effected. 
Teach me courage, — teach me forbearance, — you who 
have proved yourself both strong and patient as woman 
seldom has before, — above all, answer me. Doubt is al- 
most worse than madness now. 

“ In your hand are all the clues of my being. Compare 
and judge for yourself as to our relative position, and when 
all is ended, decide for both, for my heart so long desolate 
and unstirred, rebels sorely against this last decree of prov- 
idence or fate, — be it what it may, — the master-stroke of 
our evil genius, perchance, directed to bewilder and over- 
whelm us. 

“ I dare not write to you as my distracted soul dictates ; 
it would be folly, madness, crime. I dare not, must not en- 
treat you to cut the gordian knot, by putting under foot the 
dreadful obstacle that divides us, flying to the outermost 
corners of the earth to dwell with me in defiance of all human 
laws or divine institutions. This would be, indeed, to wade 
through blood — our own blood — to seek our happiness, if 
such indeed could exist in minds like ours, separately from 
law and order. 

** But of this no more. I will not repeat what I have al- 
ready said in the note that must have reached you long ago. 

I shall remain here to receive your reply, for under present 
circumstances, I cannot return to Lesderniers, the scene of 
all my happiness ; nor can you properly conceive, I fear, 
from your long silence, the insatiable yearning I feel to 
know the truth whatever it may be ; for hope is still delu- 
25 


402 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


sive perhaps, yet none the less at times irrepressible. Lose 
no time in writing. I am living years instead of days in my 
anxiety, — waxing old in the uncertainty of my aDguish. 
Or better still, in any case, come to me yourself, and give 
me strength by the serenity of your presence, to bear what- 
ever fate may hold in store for both. If only once more, 
let me see you face to face. Fear no longer the power of 
the bold, bad man, from whom obscurity protects you now. 
Whatever betide, this much remains to me, at least, the 
privilege, however separated our lots may prove, to be your 
protector, your shield, your champion, while my heart con- 
tinues to beat. Farewell. 

Yours eternally, 

Wardour Wentworth. ” 

A page that seemed to have been torn purposely from a 
memorandum-book, and inclosed, fell from the letter or its 
envelope which after a time I stooped to pick up and read, 
with scarcely less bewilderment than the scroll itself. 

“ I have made every effort to trace this matter without 
the aid of Miriam, but so far unsuccessfully. 1 have met 
with no one who knew Mr. Monfort more than by name. 
He seems to have been a man singularly shy of society and 
the world. The house in which he resided has been point- 
ed out to me. It stands closed and empty, as do those of 
his nearest neighbors. The old man, Morton, who had 
charge of it is no longer there. Whether dead or living I 
could not ascertain ; and the char-woman engaged by Mr. 
Bainerothe, lives in an out-building and has some care of the 
premises. From her, nothing could be gathered. I feel 
completely baffled .' 1 

And this was all. The papers fell from my nerveless 
fingers. 

What did it all mean ? What ? I held no clue to the 
solution of this mystery, and weeks must elapse, months 
perhaps, in the way Southern mails were then conducted, 
before it could be solved to my satisfaction, if indeed such 
a word might be applied to the termination of my happi- 
ness. To doubt Wardour Wentworth were a heresy, I felt, 
against Heaven itself ; for to me he represented every qual- 
ity that we esteem godlike and heroic. My fate alone was 
at fault ; that doom which forbade the cup of joy to mantle 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


403 


my lips, and sealed me an alien from happiness coincident 
with my existence, and inseparable from it forever more. 

I sank on my knees, I remember, and uttering low, 
mournful cries, proclaimed at once my misery and submis- 
sion, my despairing subjugation. 

And it did indeed seem that in that very spell of inability 
— imbecility almost — so foreign from my nature, my fate 
asserted its supremacy. Had 1 written that day, a messen- 
ger about setting forth for Savannah would have carried 
with him my letter in time for the next packet, but I was 
so completely nerveless I could as soon have grasped Na- 
poleon’s sceptre as a pen or pencil, and I lay all day with 
my face pressed in my pillow, crushing my letter in my 
hand, as an escape-valve to bodily anguish, while I neither 
spoke nor thought intelligibly, weighed down by that 
“ mass of many images,” which has always been to me so 
oppressive an accompaniment of pain, mental or physical. 

By the time 1 rose up from that trance of grief my mind 
was definitely made up to confront this obstacle in person, 
whatever it might be, as desperate men walk up to the can- 
non’s mouth. I would take the next packet, that which 
was to sail twenty days later, and dissipate this mirage of 
my lover’s brain, for such I vowed to believe it, as if will 
could compel belief, any more than love, the irrepressible 
two, which no bonds can hold, no menaces subdue, no 
bribery corrupt ! Then with my letter folded in my 
bosom, (read and re-read as this was, until the words grew 
unmeaning to my mind, and my senses reeled before their 
monotony, and action became my one necessity,) I went 
about my daily tasks again with fierce conjecture preying 
on my vitals as did the hidden fox on those of the Spartan. 

Anxiety, what torture like to thine ! Surely, of all the 
furies, thou art the most unappeasable I Despair hath its 
own Dead Sea calmness, — remorse, its ebbs and tides, — • 
but Anxiety, with her uplifted torch, her streaming locks, 
her pallid, wild-eyed face goes wearily and restlessly up 
and down the earth, hunting, like Ceres for her daughter, 
for that certainty which is to be found like Proserpine, 
I alone, most often in hell ! God save us from this fiend ! I 
1 know not why it was that those words of poor Ophelia’s re- 
) eurred to me ever during this weary term of my probation, 
like a sad refrain of an unfinished song, heard only by 
snatches and eternally knelled by memory. 


404 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


“ Now let the stricken deer go weep, 

The hart ungallfed play ; 

For some must watch and some must weep, — 

So wears the world away.” 

There is comfort as well as torture oftentimes in such 
involuntary as well as irrelevant repetitions of the mind. 
But at times I gave way wildly in my solitude. Jean 
Paul Richter gives an account of a strange vision, “ The 
Sceptic’s Bream,” I think he calls it, in which is pour- 
tiayed the effect that the spiritual death of Christ would 
have upon his followers, and the utter forlornness of 
the world without such stay and trust. Oh think me not 
blasphemous if 1 acknowledge that this ever-recurring vis- 
ion did seem to me at times a type of my own destiny, for 
to this radiant hope of mine, so inadequately shadowed 
forth in these pages, all else did indeed seem cold, barren, 
insufficient. It was my religion then, for I had little 
other, and the angel that was leading me to God, was this 
affection, the first earnest one that had been vouchsafed to 
me, and in comparison with which all others did indeed 
seem but dust and ashes. But from this dark strife of feel- 
ing, this inadequacy of conjecture, this reign of sleepless 
anxiety, I was roused as with a trumpet blast, to the terrific 
sorrows of others, still near and dear to me, by the claims 
of human sympathy once powerful in my nature. From the 
time of Walter’s entire convalescence, at which period this 
strange blow was levelled at my heart, (at my reason almost, 
I might add), 1 had seen but little of him ; of any one outside 
of the sphere of my duties. It was understood that I was 
indisposed, an idea that my appearauce bore out well ; for 
I started at my own reflection in the glass sometimes, so 
wan and woeful was it, and understood at last Queen Eliza- 
beth’s aversion to her mirror in her change of age. 

Madame Lavigne had insisted on my seeing Doctor Du- 
rand, but this 1 had positively refused to do from the first, 
dreading his blunt acumen, so to speak, which made him 
often blunder so unexpectedly on the truth. 

Mr. Gregory and Major Favrand were again in Savannah ; 
Mr. Vernon much engaged in superintending the works in 
the swamp, and Walter entirely surrounded by his family, 
in his convalescence, so that even Bertie was less with me 
than usual, a relief greater than all the rest, to my feelings; 
for her supervision, incited as it was by affection itself, was 
at times, more intolerable to me than the scrutiny of an en- 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


405 


emy could possibly have been. I had time to cleave to my 
suicidal wretchedness, when it pleased God to rouse me by 
a touch of his mighty, all-directing hand, to a renewed sense 
of what I still owed those fellow-creatures to whom my fate 
had bound me. ' 

Let me recall the very hour when I received this sum- 
mons. It is marked down in my heart with a black cross, 
never to be erased, until 1 stand at the judgment bar and 
am cleansed of all earthly tribulation by that same mighty 
touch which thrilled my life-springs then. 

The lull of an intensely hot July afternoon was lying like 
lead over the whole face of nature when I heard the sharp 
sound of a horse’s hoofs in the paved court below my cham- 
ber. I was lying, I remember, on my bed, the weary mid- 
day meal and school duties all beiag over, in the listlessness 
of utter misery, watching the motes that danced in that 
long line of sultry light which found its way through a 
crevice in the green jalousie to the distant floor, and almost 
magnetized my senses ; when I was brought to my feet sud- 
denly by the sound of that eager, dashing hoof-stroke, so ir- 
relevant to the hour, the place, and the weather, that it 
startled me like a sudden voice heard at midnight, a cry of 
alarm. 

“ Doctor Durand, I suppose, and in hot haste, it seems,” 

I murmured, as I gathered up the long hair that had swept 
across my pillow, and wreathed it listlessly around my head 
again. “Who is ill now, here or elsewhere? Our Jo- 
nah himself, perhaps, this time,” and I shook my head ; 
“ would that it indeed were he — no other! Why tarries 
the hand of God to cast him forth ? Alas ! is there any jus- 
tice here or hereafter ? ” 

Bitter indeed is the mood that can engender thoughts 
like these in a youthful breast, but the “waters had indeed 
come over my soul,” in that fearful interval of anxiety and 
grief. I was sitting quietly by the window striving for a 
breath of air when Sylphy entered almost breathless and 
somewhat excited. 

“ Mr. Vernon to see you, Miss Harz, and he seems in a 
perdigious hurry for a leisurely gentleman like him,” said 
jthe domestic magpie. “ He giv’ me a shove of the shoul- 
der w’en I stopped to make my manners to him, that cum 
nigh upsettin’ ob me jis’ at de foot ob de stairs, and says he 
must see you ’mejiantly.” 


406 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


Tell him he must excuse me this evening*, Sylphy, unless 
— unless he has a letter for me. Let Miss Marion know 
that he is here. I am not dressed, you see.” 

“ Neider is Miss Marion,” she muttered, as she withdrew, 
“ and fas’ asleep at dat.” 

She returned a moment later, shutting the door carefully 
after her as she came in. 

“ He wants to see you, Miss Miriam, all alone by your- 
se’f, and dis is his ’scuse for de shove he gin me jis now,” 
and unclosing her hand she revealed a small gold coin nes- 
tling deep in its hollow palm. “ I alius knowed he was ob 
de fust quality, from de ways he had, and w’en all de res’ 
ob de cullored family disposed his courtin’ ob Miss Marion, 
I was de only frien’ he foun’ and I isn’t gwine to turn agin 
him dis late in de day ; but do git on your dress, Miss Mir- 
iam. I tells you w’at ! dat man has got sumthin’ on his 
mind dis time, some news to tell wuth hearin’, and l’s all 
cur’osity — no, not dat ; ranxiety to know w’at kin be de 
matter, an’ so is you, Miss Mirime, I sees dat by your 
colour now. But Massa Vernon ! he looks mighty pale, I 
tells you all ; an’ de drops ob sweat stan’s out on his face, 
like jew on a cabbage-leaf.” 

“He has been riding fast and far, Sylphy, and it is hot 
to-day. Did you give him water ? There, hand me my 
belt, my collar ; now, Sylphy, I am nearly ready.” 

“No, no, Miss Miriam, his hail’ was as cold as ice w’en 
he fetched me on the arm, and he asked for brandy ; and 
dis is de fust time I eber knowed him to drink dat wicked 
stuff'; an’ w’en I sot out de ’canter he took a stiff* horn I 
tells you, now, — dat deep, ef a drop,” measuring a half a 
finger — “an’ tossed it off jis’ as fas’ as Major Favrand 
could do to save dear life. Dere is sumthin’ wrong ’tween 
him an’ Miss Marion, perhaps ; an’ he wants you to ’spos- 
tulate, for he doesn’t ask to see her.” 

“ He has never been right in that quarter yet, you know, 
Sylphy. Don’t connect your Miss Marion’s name with his 
or any one’s ; she does not like it. No ! it is for me — for 
me, the bitter cup is mixed,” I thought, as with trembling 
fingers I drenched my handkerchief with eau de cologne and 
raised it to my face, snatched my fan, and then, pausing 
suddenly at the open door, with an impulse I could not un- 
derstand myself, asked her whether' Walter Lavigne, absent 
since morning, but whom I supposed to be at home ere this, 
knew of Mr. Vernon’s presence in the house. 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


407 


tl Massa Walter’s ober at de Refuge place since day- 
light,” was the circuitous reply ; “ an’ nobody knows w’en 
he gits dar when he gwine to come home again. He does 
lub dat ole lonesome place onaccountable.” 

“ I shall have it all to myself then,” I thought, “ what- 
ever it may be. What now has my bitter doom in store for 
me, what more ? What has Mr. Vernon to communicate?” 

1 entered the darkened parlor. Near a window, the sash- 
es of which he had thrown apart as if for air, Mr. Vernon 
was standing. As I approached him he hung back the shut- 
ters also with a sudden, almost convulsive movement, and 
the glare of sunshine thus let in revealed his face pale and 
haggard. 

“ I have a letter for you,” he said, fumbling in his breast 
pocket. “ Here it is at last, but for God’s sake do notread 
it now,” whispering huskily. “ Put it out of sight if you 
can, for some future moment. This is too precious to be so 
employed.” Then, alter hesitating a moment, he added, ** I 
have bad news for you, Miss Harz.” 

: “ Captain Wentworth ! ” I ejaculated feebly, as I obeyed 
him and mechanically thrust the letter into my reticule as I 
spoke, and drawing the strings tightly above it, stood rig- 
idly before him. 

“ No, no I there is no question of him. But how shall I 
find tongue to tell you the dreadful truth ? ” and bitter 
groans burst from his tight-drawn lips, — his heaving breast, 
across which his arms were closely folded. 

“ Mr. Vernon, this is terrible ; but delay is torture now. 
Speak — tell me what has happened, — what moves you so ? 
Let me know the very worst ! ” 

“ I had one too,” he began at last, in hollow accents, as 
if he had not heard me; “ a letter, I mean, both written last 
night, it seems, in his own chamber ; for this was no im- 
pulse born of fever, but a settled resolve. Poor, poor fel- 
low ! He begs me to ask you to break it to his mother very 
gradually, as you best could do, he thinks, (and I think so 
too) ; some love disappointment, no doubt 1 He wants her 
to believe it a sunstroke, and you, yes, you can see the wis- 
dom of this, and the holiness of such a deception, truthful 
as you are.” 

“ My God ! Mr. Vernon ; what am I to understand r 
Speak ! suspense is agony. There is question of Walter 
Lavigne ; what has occurred ? ” 


408 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


11 Bear it with firmness, then, Miss Harz. Gird np all 
your strength to bear it ; ” and he laid his hand firmly on 
my wrist, and looked me full in the face as he whispered 
the dreadful truth. “Walter Lavigne has shot himself 
through the heart at the Refuge.” 

He told me afterwards that if 1 too had been shot I could 
not have fallen more suddenly, more lifelessly to the floor, 
before his arm could interpose to save me, his hand close 
upon my wrist ; so that 1 was mercifully spared the dreadful 
task friendship had assigned to me. It was from another 
that his mother heard the pious falsehood that Walter had 
constructed, and learned that her idol had been stricken 
suddenly to death by the same shaft that slew the children 
of Niobe. 

It was evening when I revived from that swoon which 
had veiled my senses while the first cruel blow was being 
inflicted on the bereaved hearts of that doomed household 
by the hand of friendship, alas 1 guided by disinterested be- 
nevolence ! 

When I unclosed my eyes, they rested on the face of 
Doctor Durand bending closely above me; but it was im- 
mediately withdrawn, and a few moments later I was aware 
of Bertie sobbing on the bed beside me, while he stood op- 
posite me, at the loot. 

“ Is it all true, doctor ? ” I asked wearily. 

“ Yes, my dear young lady, unfortunately too true ; ” and 
he assumed a menacing attitude and lifted up his voice and 
hand together. 

“ Poor Walter has had a sunstroke, you know ; generally 
fatal at this season, and is no more. But think of yourself, 
just now ; ene tiling at a time. Sylphy, that goblet of 
wine and water. Now take a swallow, there’s a good girl,” 
coming near again and patting me on the shoulder. “ You 
are very much needed just now in this afflicted family. Get 
your strength,” then whispering ; “ and, above all, be si- 
lent.” 

“ Oh, doctor, doctor ! it is too terrible ! ” and I pressed 
my hand to my forehead, as the dark words of Mr. Vernon 
flashed back on my remembrance “ So young, so noble, 
to perish thus ! Oh, righteous God ! where sleep thy thun- 
ders ? ” 

“ By Jove ! you are delirious, I believe. Sunstroke is a 
very easy death, remember,” shaking his fist wildly, under 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


403 


my very nose. “ Sunstroke ! Do take notice of the cause 
of the disaster. Now 1 forbid you to open your lips again 
until you get back your senses, except to swallow this wine 
and water and a crust of bread. I must be obeyed in this 
chamber ; understand that, once for all.” 

I took the goblet and mutely swallowed some of its con- 
tents, as well as I could, along with my bitter, suffocating 
tears, but eat I could not yet, and the crust was put. back 
in the hands that gave it ; but I comprehended him now. 

“ Be firm,” he whispered, “ so much depends on you. 
Bertie must be considered. She is beside you. Be dis- 
creet, as well,” and he pressed his fingers on his lips. 

A* My poor, poor Bertie,” and I laid my hand lightly on 
her shivering form. “But Madame Lavigne and Marion, 
how do they bear it ? ” I asked in the next minute, starting 
to elbow and putting back my hair. 

“ Badly ; they sit like statues. I want you to make 
them weep. Bertie, the most nervous patient in the house 
has found her outlet, and is safe in consequence. Madge is 
in convulsions of grief, but I have no fears for her eventu- 
ally. You must husband strength now, for this occa- 
sion, and help me win these poor stricken women back to 
life. Even Colonel Lavigne is powerless, paralyzed.” 

“ Is there no one with them ? But for my weakness, I 
would go at once. But I cannot ; I cannot yet. Mr. Ver- 
non ? ” 


“ Is terribly shaken himself, poor young man ! He broke 
the news to them, and it was a trial that unnerved him 
later. My wife and daughters are here and will do all they 
can for the friends they love, but their influence is small. 
It is in you I place my chief reliance.” 

“ Oh ! doctor, I too am unnerved. I can do nothing now. 
Don’t, don’t ask me. It is all so terrible — so recent.” 

“ I know — I know ; but women like you always rise to 
the emergency. It is your everyday people — calm usual- 
ly — w ho go down into deep water in times like this. Look 
at Bertie and Madge, — the highstrung children of this 
house, _ how much more natural they are in grief than 
those meek, mild, commonplace, lovable creatures! Oh, it 
is positively heart-breaking to see those otheis! And 
he dashed the tears from his eyes with the back of his 
brown hand, almost disdainfully, and strode away to min- 
ister to those more in need of his care than I was. 


410 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


When he returned later, Bertie was pacing the moonlit 
gallery without, in her moaning passion of sorrow, and I 
could ask questions of him in her absence impossible before. 
In whispering accents he revealed to me that Walter had 
died alone, at the Refuge, it was supposed at about the 
hour of noon. His body was still warm when Mr. Vernon 
returned to his early dinner, and Patrick, who had heard 
the report of a pistol, had supposed that M. Lavigne was 
practising, as he often did, at a mark from the gallery, and 
had made no enquiry concerning it. 

He was found, this poor, dear Walter of ours, lying on 
the chamber floor quite dead, when Vernon went in to an- 
nounce dinner to him, with a face so placid, and in an atti- 
tude so natural that he seemed to be asleep. The* princi- 
pal bleeding had been internal, and there was little outward 
sign of the manner in which he had met his self-inflicted 
death, so far a secret from his family. 

“ But can it remain so, Doctor Durand?” I questioned. 
“ Colonel Lavigne will know.” 

“Even if he does he will surely have more manliness 
than to lay such a burden on the women of his house. But 
the hope is that he will not investigate the matter further 
in his present paralyzed condition, though he insisted on 
returning with Vernon to fetch the body.” 

“ The body ! Oh, Doctor Durand ! and to think what a 
splendid creature of life he was last night ! So young ! so 
beautiful ! To be hurled to such a doom ! ” 

“ Yes, it was perfectly unaccountable ! In all my prac- 
tice I have met with nothing like this. Rich, beloved, hon- 
oured, sane, healthy, — for the last dregs of disease had 
left his vigorous frame, I know ; with no cross on his affec- 
tions that any one ever heard of, — unless, indeed — but no 
— you are too good and candid and sensible a girl for that; 
it was not through you his youth was marred, Miss Harz,” 
bending upon me his keen, interrogating eyes. 

“No, no, indeed ; oh, discard such a dream of suspicion 
forever, Doctor Durand, as unworthy of me and of him and 
of yourself. Oh, would to God his trouble had been only 
that ; how easily it had been cured ! ” 

“Do you know, then, the cause of this suicide?” he 
asked earnestly. “ Answer me, I conjure you ! ” 

“ Doctor Durand,” I replied, “ would you have me give 
breath to conjectures that might wholly wrong their object ? 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


411 


Of this be sure, I share no confidence of his on such a sub- 
ject, know absolutely nothing from himself. It would be 
charitable perhaps to all concerned to try and deem it ma- 
nia ; but one cannot control conviction. How — how did 
his father bear it ? ” 

lie started slightly as he replied, “Oh, very stolidly. 
Like a man who had been expecting a blow of some sort for 
a long time, and was parti}" paralyzed by the very expecta- 
tion. Very calmly indeed, since I think of it. But he was 
always a singular being. You see how little he has regard- 
ed Favrand’s feelings or even common propriety in his open 
elation over his son’s inheritance, lately. It seems a judg- 
ment, almost, — this last stroke.” The words were uttered 
between his set teeth, and with strange asperity. 

“ He felt more than he betrayed,” I was constrained by 
truth to rejoin, as .1 recollected that strange outburst of 
tenderness to which he had given vent on the occasion of 
his midnight madness. “ He was deeply attached to Mad- 
ame Favrand, I have reason to believe.” 

” Yes ; he had been, in youth, 1 know ; but there was a 
disappointment in that quarter which reacted in bitterness 
on his nature, and somewhat unhinged his nerves, 1 think, 
to say no more. Of late there has been no true intimacy, 
though the friendly intercourse was still maintained, for it 
would have been hard to quarrel in any case, with Celia 
Favrand, Miss Harz. She was the sweetest woman I have 
ever known in the whole course of my life, — the most 
saintly. To tell you the truth, I worshipped the ground 
she walked on, myself, at one time, when her name was La- 
vigne ; but she never knew it, never ; no, I am sure she 
never knew it ! ” And the unsentimental man of fifty 
gulped down some mighty emotion, and again departed to 
his distant ministry. 

Down upon the floor, that night, by the light of the dim 
night taper, and while Bertie slept peacefully under the in- 
fluence of the anodyne wherewith Doctor Durand had cov- 
ered up her grief as with a merciful mantle, for a season, I 
read that letter, drawn from the little pink and purple reti- 
cule, the “ fool ” of that period, in which I had impulsively 
enclosed it, written as it was in extremity and beneath the 
shadows of impending death, and yet by one in the full flush 
and vigor of unbroken health and manhood. Strange para- 
dox, scarcely more singular than true ; darkly suggestive 


412 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


of a troubled, trembling spirit standing humbly before an 
offended Maker, on whose august presence it had intruded 
unbidden, undesired ! yet forgiven, Walter, I must earnest- 
ly believe, in spite of all sectarians think and preachers say ; 
for God, who infused the quality of honor into the noblest 
human breast, honor, without which life itself is valueless, 
cannot be insensible to its high and enthusiastic, even if er- 
roneous teachings, and will pardon even its morbid excess- 
es and promptings on occasion, as man cannot pardon his 
fellow-man. Yes; forgiven, Walter, if God is just and be- 
nevolent, and Christ has pity on mortal offenders, (as we 
are taught to believe he has, for those for whose sake he 
lived and died,) and happy, I well believe, at last, in thy 
final refuge. Yet who shall know, until the end of all ? 

Walter Lavigne’s Letter. Marked (Confidential.) 

“ After deep reflection and many struggles of mind I feel 
that I am called upon by every law, human and divine, to 
lay down my life, rather than bear it in dishonor and direct 
complicity with crime. To disfranchise myself from such 
stain and companionship, I should, were I to live on, be 
obliged to lay bare the shame of one dearer to me than my 
own existence, and openly deprive my family of home and 
heritage. Why I do not make all this plainer, you will com- 
prehend, for not even to your faithful hands must I entirely 
commit the safety and security of my family ; its peace, 
honor, and good name. These things I have no right to 
place in the safe keeping of a stranger, whatever clues she 
may already possess. 

** Yet, better than all other strangers, have I loved and 
trusted you, my recent friend, although you have been mis- 
taken, perhaps, in your course towards me, delicate as were 
your motives. Could you have placed the truth before me, 
even as you knew it, and helped me to grapple with its hor- 
rors, you would have served me better. I say not this to 
reproach you, for I thank you — yes, inexpressibly — ■ for 
all your compassionate efforts to divert my suspicions, and 
to sustain my faiqting energies. Even for the imperfect 
stratagem of the button sewn on with new thread, I thank 
you. It was well intended, though a failure and a mistake. 
I needed more than this. I needed sympathy and direct 
understanding. Two persons holding hands together at the 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


413 


margin of the sea, can confront the billows and steady each 
other’s steps, one alone falls beneath the advancing wave. 
1 am a weakling, Miriam, and I go down in the fierce flood 
of circumstance alone, and may God’s blessing rest on those 
whom my death deprives of a heritage of horror ! As Cur- 
tius died to close a yawning gulf, 1 die, my Miriam. Re- 
member me, and pray for our meeting in another world, — 
you and your Wentworth. Read and destroy this scroll. 

“ Eternally yours, Walter.” 

With streaming tears, with agony unspeakable, I read 
this message from one already in possession of the secrets 
of eternity, and himself a part of the sublime mystery of 
another world. For one additional reader only, were the 
contents of the solemn scroll reserved, — the scroll de- 
stroyed in substance as soon as read and committed to 
memory, — one whose name linked with my own, appeared 
in its concluding sentence ; now perhaps like him who had 
crossed the bourne of death, lost to me forever, yet none 
the less a portion of my own being. ■“'One thing was certain. 
It was in no fierce fever of delirium, no extasy of intoxica- 
tion, even, that Walter Lavigne had taken his own life ; but 
as a measure of morbid and romantic honor, deliberately 
planned, so that the dark secret of his father’s crime might 
be preserved and its consequences annulled. Death and 
poverty were in the balance with prosperity and crime, and 
he preferred the first. Curtius, with whom he had placed 
himself in parallel, never went more deliberately to his 
death-doom. 

It was midnight when, beneath the rays of the full yellow 
moon, the corpse lying on a stretcher, in its serene beauty, 
was brought to Beauseincourt, by men bearing it on with 
muffled, steady steps, from the wagon whence it had been 
lifted at the garden gate. These were preceded by Colo- 
nel Lavigne and Vernon, riding slow, with downcast heads. 
A sadder sight than this my eyes have never beheld as they 
gazed down from the upper gallery, straining and full of 
tears, nor have my ears ever heard sounds more fearful and 
full of woe than the wild scream of the hitherto stony mother 
when her broken idol was returned to her. There was a 
Grecian painter who dropped a veil over the face of the 
father about to sacrifice his child, and so, through the sym- 
pathies of men, immortalized his picture. Let me imitate 


414 


MIRIAMS MEMOIRS. 


here, that wise and delicate example, and cast the mantle 
of silence over the grief of the bereaved. 

But the end was not yet. There was still another phase 
of sorrow to be encountered, dealt with, and put aside, be- 
fore peace and composure could be restored to the inhabit- 
ants of Beauseincourt — the curse removed. 


CHAPTER XXV. 



ddE funeral was over. The earth had closed inexo- 
rably over that perfect form in the exuberance of its 
manly grace and beanty and fulness of young ex- 
ultant life, and the debt of honor was paid. So 
deemed the dead. 

In that climate and at that season the fearful exi- 
gencies of nature made it essential to hurry this 
proceeding, regardless of feeling or of ceremony, and Wal- 
ter was laid at rest on the day following that of his suicide. 

Favrand and Vernon, bareheaded, in the fierce morning 
sun, supported to the grave the tearless and impassible 
man, aged a cycle in one week, it seemed to me, who threw 
the first clod of earth on the coffin of him he had so idolized, 
as mechanically as an automaton could have done, and then 
walked away unsustained, yet staggering in his gait as he 
went. When again the hand of friendship would have 
guided him on his way, he stopped and with waving hands 
and mute, moving lips, made pantomimic prayer to be left 
to himself, and the straining eye of agony followed his tall, 
gaunt form, with its bowed, hatless head, and wild, un- 
kempt, tawny hair, as he turned an angle of the house, 
groping his way as he went, like a blind man. 

He had gone to his library, it was thought, from the di- 
rection he had taken ; gone to immure himself for a time 
and regain his composure, after his old custom when excited 
or distressed, for he was one to whom solitude was ever the 
best medicine ; but when at evening Jura went to him with 
refreshments, the door though closed, was found to be un- 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


415 


locked, and its tenant had departed, whither, we could only 
conjecture for a season. 

Night came, and when Madame Lavigne sent urgent en- 
treaty for him to come to her, — he, who alone, could be 
said to bear an equal share with herself in this bereavement, 
the messenger was obliged to acknowledge that he was not 
to be found beneath the roof of Beauseincourt. 

He had gone forth into the grounds, it was supposed at 
first, for a while, to give vent unheard, unseen, to his pas- 
sion of grief; but after hours of anxious search, this delu- 
sion was abandoned. He was not at Bellevue, he was not 
at the Refuge, — this much was ascertained before midnight. 
His hat and cane were lying on the porch as he had left 
them when he went to the funeral ; no sign of habitation 
was in the well-ordered library, or of passionate disturb- 
ance. It was as still as a sepulchre. 

It came to be understood that he had never entered the 
house at all, but, proceeding on in the direction of the high 
road, had set forth on his journey alone, just as we saw him 
groping and staggering around the angle of his dwelling, 
unconscious, probably, of place or purpose. 

At daylight, a party of gentlemen set out in search of 
him, returning at noon without having found the slightest 
trace of his flight, — not even a footstep or a broken branch 
to track it by. 

After refreshment and consultation they set forth again. 
All Lesdernier was alive by this time, to scour the country 
closely for thirty miles around, in the face of the scorching 
heat and the fevers brooding in such an atmosphere. The 
day was one of arid agony almost ; the sky was brassy in 
its blazing glare, as for days it had been, and the effects of 
this continued drought were telling fast on tree and shrub, 
on man and beast. The figs were shrivelling on the trees, 
the half-ripe grapes drying to raisins on their stems ; flow- 
ers drooped and shrivelled, leaves lay flaccid against their 
supporting branches ; all nature seemed asleep, and yet 
athirst. But no complaint, no remark even, about this 
state of things, was made by any of those interested in this 
pursuit. The fire and energy of Southern men come out 
on such emergencies, and indolence and self-indulgence are 
put aside for the time being, whenever their passions or 
emotions are aroused, they have strange reserves of 
power. Mr. de Bonville and Mr. Duganne even, who had 


416 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


seemed to me types of their peculiar class in every way, 
were imbued with dignity and energy by the earnestness of 
their purpose. An old man was in peril, perhaps, and wo- 
men were in affliction for his sake, and comfort, safety, life 
itself were as nothing in the balance, while such motives 
weighed. Southern chivalry was aroused as well as manly 
compassion, and the two together are apt to prove invinci- 
ble in any cause. So seems it to me. 

I remember the peculiar nature of my own sensations 
when at twilight King and Jura came back with the double 
leash of blood-hounds that had been employed as a last re- 
source, whereby to track Colonel Lavigne. What had they 
feared then, what suspected ? The scent had been foiled 
by running water, thus far had they traced the desolate old 
man. Instinct was at fault, and sagacity was what they 
needed now, and the men had returned for Ossian, who 
combined both almost to the limits of reason. 

They gave him a glove of Colonel Lavigne’s, one of a pair 
of gauntlets he had worn habitually ; and, accompanied by 
the intelligent brute, set out again to renew the so far una- 
vailing search. The blood-hounds, which belonged to Mr. 
de Bonville, were chained in the court below, and this time 
ignominiously left behind ; a slight which they seemed to 
resent by their restlessness and occasional deep-mouthed 
baying. 

This incident gave a grim reality to the danger of Colonel 
Lavigne, which his mere disappearance had not before 
seemed to me to warrant. I had indeed believed from the 
first, and later, from the route he had been traced on, that 
his aim was to reach the Savannah stage at the fork of the 
high road, but this fact could not of course be so speedily 
ascertained. 

“ He has gone in his half crazed despair, ” I thought, “ to 
meet Maginnis, and to compromise with him on his own 
frightful terms, before all hope is over, and his ruin com- 
pletely revealed. ” 

I did this murderer injustice on this occasion. One crime 
does not compass all, as general thinkers believe. A man 
may take your money, yet shrink from shedding your heart’s 
blood, and vice versa. 

For a time the agonizing sense of Walter’s death was 
merged in this fresh excitement, this deep anxiety, as far, 
at least, as his family were concerned. My own interest 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


417 


for Colonel Lavigne’s safety was wholly on this account, 
and pity for the individual was buried under the mountain 
consciousness of his crimes that cried to Heaven for ven- 
geance, and which began only with the slaughter of Mar- 
celline. 

Tears had at last flowed freely from the eyes of Mad- 
ame Lavigne and Marion, and Madge was composed and 
sobered by this fresh affliction. It was Bertie now who was 
completely unstrung. She alone of all the family except 
her father and the little girls had been able to walk to the 
grave of Walter, and hers was the straining eye of agony 
that I had seen following his uncertain steps as he groped 
his way around the angle of the building, on his way as we 
then thought to the seclusion of his library, whither none 
dared follow him. Since his disappearance she had lain 
moaning, shivering and weeping on her bed again, save 
when she lost her consciousness at times in unrefreshing 
sleep, such as comes to all feeble creatures from exhaustion 
and reaction. Her mood was very terrible to me, nor had I 
been able to soothe or influence her in any way since the 
hopeless night came down and found her father still an alien 
from his home. 

The sun had dropped to rest like a brazen ball that even- 
ing, surrounded by dark purple clouds, and the moon rose 
up wan and watery, wearing* a mantle of mist. Far down 
against the horizon stretched a black, shapeless waste, as 
it seemed, of darkness, and through this shadowy mass rah 
glimmerings of sheet lightning, now and then relieved by 
arrowy darts of electric flame. As the night wore on low 
growls of thunder, as from some beast in ambush, filled the 
air, and foreboded the coming tempest. By midnight the 
storm was upon us in all its fury. This first roused Bertie. 

As a pealing burst of thunder, such as might have her- 
alded the advance of Titans in heaven’s courts, shook the 
house to its foundations, she sat up in her bed and looked 
wildly around, with her hands to her head, as it shocked 
back "to life and consciousness rather than revived to them. 

I was watching beside her, as my own inclinations led 
me, and as Doctor Durand had entreated me to do, alter my 
interview with Madame Lavigne and Marion. It was Ber- 
tie’s turn now to be the chief object of his and my soiic- 
! itude. 

“ He is out in the rain,” she said, as she was aroused to 
26 


418 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


her situation ; “ dying, perhaps, or dead. I must go to 
him, Miss Harz, I must indeed. ” And she made an effort 
to leave the bed. “ It is simply my duty, you know.” 

“No, Bertie; you cannot possibly go through this 
dreadful tempest ; ” and I held her gently but firmly in her 
place. “ The very dogs are hiding from the wind and rain, 
and the crashing thunder. It seems, indeed, as if the del- 
uge were about to be loosened again over the earth. It is 
the storm of storms ! ” 

“ The dogs — yes — they are baying though, for all. 
And listen to that distant howl ! It is Ossian ! He has 
found him.” And she sank back on her pillow and covered 
her face, shuddering silently. “ Bound him ! Oh, my God ! 
and how ? I see him, yes, I see him lying among the mi- 
norca lilies, all alone! ” she murmured after a time. “ His 
feet are in the water, and the shadow of the cypress tree is 
over him — the long black shadow ; yet I see him as clear- 
ly as if the broad moonlight were all about him. Father ! 
father ! I knew you could not survive Walter. You could 
not honourably, you know ; you, a proud Huguenot gentle- 
man 1 Oh, no — no — no!” 

Like one in a dreadful dream these words were uttered, 
— like one in a dream I listened, — seized, frozen, bewil- 
dered. I heard repeated snatches of my own vision, and 
just as I had witnessed it, — just as I had related it to 
Walter, it recurred to my own mind, with all the vividness 
of reality. Yes, he would be found dead in the swamp of 
Lesdernier. I never doubted it from that moment, and 
again the solemn vision-warning that I had dreamed swept 
before me in its panoramic power of prophecy. 

** The scene is a strange one to my eyes,” she went on, 
stretching her arms to heaven, “ but with God’s help I will 
find it. Come Ossian, let us go. You saved him once, 
brave dog ! you shall find him now, and I will be the first 
to touch his corpse, cold — cold among the lilies. Oh, my 
God 1 he was my idol once, Miss Harz ; and you know how 
we all cling to the last to our broken idols, even to the 
merest pieces. A noble gentleman, you know, possessed 
by — a fiend!” 

Almost the very words that he himself had uttered, 
speaking of his own condition that night, on the moonlit 
gallery below ! 

“ Give me some wine, Miss Harz. I must be strong, for 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


419 


I have work to do. There, that on the toilet will answer ; 
that crust, too. I must eat and drink now, as David did, 
you remember, the child being dead, just to get strength 
again. 

il How refreshing it is I How good is food in its season ! 
I am very tired, you see, after that fierce struggle ; ” and 
she ate almost voraciously. 

“ Poor child ! poor child ! ” I could but murmur. 

“ Don’t call me tender names ; they unnerve me. And 
don’t persuade me not to go. I will wait until the storm 
slackens, as you say ; and then no chains can hold me ; no, 
nor tears, nor entreaties, either. So don’t tell mother and 
Marion, nor set Doctor Durand to croaking at me — the 
dear, old doleful frog.” Then after a long pause which I 
had hoped to be slumber, ‘‘where is Gregory?” came 
forth presently in clear, sharp tones. 

“ 111, up stairs, I believe. He has not been out to-day.” 

“ He is the best rider and has the cunning of a fox, or a 
snake ; so send him word to stop shamming and make ready 
to go with me on Eblis. He will mind what you say ; be- 
sides he is the only one that can govern that horse, and I 
will take Tartar myself; that is, if he is fresh enough ; and 
Ossian shall point the way. I have faith in that dog.” 

“ But you do not like Mr. Gregory, it seems, Bertie,” I 
said, willing to divert her mind in any way I could, from 
the engrossing subject that had possession of it, “ and yet 
you choose for your escort this unwelcome brother that is 
to be.” 

“ Brother, brother ! ” she repeated slowly. “Ah, that 
remains to be seen,” she murmured, turning her head aside, 
then adding after a pause, in a whisper, “ Walter would 
have been of age to-morrow, only think ! ” 

I saw the relevance of the remarks, and for the first time, 
the truth of her insight flashed upon me. Gregory would 
never marry Madge under her changed circumstances, I 
felt, unless compelled ; an alternative not to be thought of. 
Was it matter of sorrow or rejoicing ? This conviction 
seized me then instantaneously to depart no more. 

“ But Vernon and Miriam will now come together again,” 
she pursued, as if in continuance of my reflections. “ He 
has behaved so nobly to us in our trial ! lie broke the 
dreadful news to mother, Miss Harz, so mercifully, I could 
have fallen down and kissed his feet, he seemed so holy in 


420 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS [ 


his ministry. He is no mammon- worshipper, no time- 
server. It was Walter’s wealth and ours that held him 
back, I believe, though Marion could not understand this 
as a reason as I could do- — as you have always done. Now 
he will come forward, and they will be happy yet ; that is 
some comfort amid all this misery.” 

“ You are probably right, Bertie, in both instances / 1 I 
rejoined. “ Poor Madge ! happy Marion ! ” 

11 Happy, happy Madge ! rather. Oh, Miss Harz, Walter 
never liked that man, and he had the instincts of an angel, 
that was why God slew him with a sunbeam, I suppose. 
Our holy martyr ! ” The smile upon her face was some- 
thing rare as she spoke. “ But what a terrible lesson it 
was ! It was like David’s spilling the water out of the 
helmet, at the gates of Babylon, wasn’t it ? He could not 
drink it, you know, because there was blood in the draught, 
or the price of blood, which is all the same. But that is a 
subject which can never be discussed. You can’t under- 
stand me, that is one comfort ; but oh, if you could, if you 
could I ’ ’ 

She lay with her hands clasped over her small, 'childish 
breast, — heaving convulsively now, — her seraphic eyes 
turned to heaven, her lips moving as if in prayer. It was 
the charm of this creature that she had no self-conscious- 
ness. She was like a bird on a tree, or a panther in the 
desert, or a cleer in the wild, in this respect ; every move- 
ment, every sound, wry unconstrained and natural, and vo- 
lition was her only betfig. 

“ There is such a thing as atonement, you know, Miss 
Harz, and what more can a man do than give up his own 
life ? The Bible says this, the grand old Bible, you remem- 
ber ? We have made our holocaust, you see; we — La- 
vignes — and our ransom is perfect, — paid ! A sunstroke 
or a stroke of lightning seems so direct from God, that I can- 
not doubt he slew Walter with his own hand, because he 
loved him too much to let him, — yes, to let him take the 
wages of crime,” she added in a low, faltering voice, “ and 
now father too, is gone, and the cloud is lifted from 
Beauseincourt. Poverty, sorrow, shame even, what are 
these to guilt ? ” 

“ You talk wildly, Bertie.” 

“ Perhaps so ; but bear with me. I have suffered very 
much of late, almost as much as you have done since Went- 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


421 


worth proved false ! You see I have penetrated your se- 
cret, but I have pitied you as greatly as I have pitied my- 
self, and never breathed it save to God in my prayers. No 
one else suspects it, except Gregory perhaps ; he finds out 
everything in his serpent guile. But oh ! 1 could not have 
believed it, but for your own whispers in your sleep. 77 

“ Then my sleep belied me, for I have never believed 
this, Bertie. What could I have said to mislead you so 
widely ? 77 As I spoke these words with apparent calm- 
ness my heart beat piteously ; for, resolved as 1 was in my 
waking hours to confide in his honour, my dreams, I knew, 
had spoken a different language. 

“ Oh, not much; just enough to account for your changed 
face and manner, which every one else attributed to the 
summer heat ; just enough to set my brain and sympathies 
to work to decipher a mystery.” 

“ You are mistaken, Bertie, I assure you. Think no more 
of it. I am going to New York in a few days to meet Cap- 
tain Wentworth, because he cannot come to me. Whether 
we shall be married or not I will then decide ; there are ob- 
stacles, but not of his creating ; and whether or not they 
will be surmounted remains to be seen. Do not do him the 
injustice to suppose him fickle. He is truth itself.” 

She pressed my hand firmly for a reply, and creeping 
close to me rested her head on my bosom, and laid quietly 
j for a time, thinking earnestly, as her speaking face be- 
trayed, but as one abstracted from the present. 

“ I have foreseen our trouble for months,” she said qui- 
etly, at last. “ I could not shut away this presentiment, 
strive as I might. What was to happen I did not foreshad- 
■ ow, but I knew that the bolt was soon to fall, and I told 
j you so ; and see ! it has fallen at last. When I returned 
i from the Wells and found all rejoicing in our new-found 
I prosperity, making merry, as it seemed to me, over that 

[ poor wretch in her grave, and her angel mother in hers, I 
said to myself, “ this is a cruel carnival, unworthy of Chris- 
I tian souls or a Christian household, and our fairy palace is 
built on a quicksand, and the waves will wash it away, for 
1 there’s something rotten in Denmark. 7 You see he knew 
( everything ; that old parrot of yours. 77 Smiling faintly. 

“ Bertie, Bertie, you must not use such expressions in 
1 such associations; you wrong yourself, your family, your 
good name, even. Learn to be reticent. 77 


422 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS . 


“ Frogs live a hundred years in a rock, and when it is 
riven, leap out, quite alive at last,” she rejoined. “ So will 
this secret of mine keep perhaps, if shut up. I never was 
made for concealment, though. It is difficult to me.” 

“ Then all the more merit will you have for practising it. 
It behooves you to be discreet, Bertie, even with me.” 

“ Who know so much,” she said, rising suddenly and 
clasping her hands together. “We are like Py ramus and 
Thisbe, in the play ; we peep at each other through .a wall, 
but there is a lion beyond. We must never throw down 
that barrier, or we shall be devoured, one or both.” 

“ Bertie, lie down again, and rest. You have need of it. 
Sleep if you can.” 

“ Is sleep a slave of yours, that you compel it? Set me 
the example, then. Come, put your head on the pillow 
beside me, your arm over me, and I will try to sleep, and 
be strong again by the time the rain is over. What a 
blinding flash that was ! and our poor old Ajax out in the 
storm defying it ! God rest his guilty soul ! ” 

Strange words, wild language for a child like that ! ma- 
tured only in feeling and intellect, — made old by sorrow ! 

She slept, and when hours had passed I too sank into one 
of those profound slumbers that after great exhaustion, with 
me simulate death itself, so that when my companion rose 
and went her way I was unconscious of all that passed 
around. But Sylphy told me at sunrise, when I first un- 
closed my eyes, that Bertie and Mr. Gregory had gone out 
by starlight, “ afore de crack ob day wid Ossian, who had 
broken away from King and come home at midnight, all by 
his lone se’f, she riding gray Tartar and he black Eblis, an' 
bofe as pale as death, gone out to hunt for massa, an, he all 
de time safe an’ soun', I does belebe in my heart, Miss Mi- 
riam, at some ob de fur off* nabor’s houses.” To which sug- 
gestion I made no reply or sign, though for a moment it had 
its effect, I confess. 

While she was aiding me to dress, the garrulous girl ran 
on in her ordinary vein, partly communicative, partly inter- 
rogative, and wholly discursive. 

Here's your pincushion, Miss Miriam. You isn’t quite 
clear in your eyes, dis mornin’, dat’s certain, feelin’ about 
for pins ! If it was a bear it would bite you ; an’ I done 
stuck it full of bofe little and big ! But trouble will ’fuse a 
body’s brains, bofe white an’ black. I ’dare ’fore de Lord, 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


423 


Jura more like a stone dan I ever seed him, dis day, an* 
King can’t raise a whistle to save life ; an’ Aunt Felicity 
looks like she could bite a tenpenny nail in two, do all her 
trout teef is out, jis wid trouble 1 Dey do say, Miss Miri- 
am,” in a sepulchral whisper, “ dat we’s all as poor as pov- 
erty ag’in, owin’ to Massa Walter’s bein’ sun-killed jis afore 
his birf-day (what a pity de Lord couldn’t have waited), an’ 
dat Bellevue boun 7 to pass ober all our heads, an 7 go to dat 
same man w 7 at was ole Armand Lavigne’s fust wife’s own 
lawful nephew’s son, dey tells me. Dey do say so, Miss 
Miriam (an 7 we gets it straight from Major Favrand’sown 
body servant, Cymon, who heered it wid his own precious 
ears, from his marster hissef, — here’s your long hair pin 
come to light ag’in, Miss Miriam) ; dat Maginnis gwine to 
buy us all at Bosincourt, an 7 de plantation too ; an 7 dat 
master’ll hab to go to de caliboose, an’ dat’sde cause ob his 
suddint disappearance, l’se thinkin 7 hidin’ at Masta Ralph 
Finestere’s, I hasn’t a doubt, from dem ossifers, ontell he 
can draw out money from General Curzon’s bank, at Savan- 
nah, to pay his debts.” 

“ Sylphy be quiet ; you craze me.” 

“ Your bar looks jis dat way, Miss Miriam, any way! 
One long piece hangin 7 down behind an 7 de res’ mitey care- 
less for a ’tickler lady like you. Well, if I has to be sold I 
wants Captain Wentworf to buy me, I does ; an 7 to live in 
de Norf wid you, tho 7 dey do say it’s a mitey mean place 
for darkies, on ’count ob de Irish Yankees, wat ’lows dem 
no peace ob mind, an 7 is troublin’ ’em night an 7 day. But 
you is not dat sort, I knows.” 

“ Sylphy be silent ; I command. Go now, and ask your 
mistress whether I shall come to her, or what I shall do for 
her, and perhaps it would be as well not to mention Bertie 

at all.” . 

“ I forgot to tell you when I fust come in, Miss Miriam, 
dat mistress tole me to ax you to step dar as soon as you 
possibly could slip on your slippers an 7 wrapper.” 

ii How could you be so careless of a message, Sylphy ? 
She is impatient, no doubt, and with good cause. There, 
give me my handkerchief ; never mind the cologne process, 
now ; and let me go immediately.” 

“ I tells you, Miss Miriam, I forgot” said Sylphy, hand- 
ing me the handkerchief in a leisurely way ; and with this 
universal and unfailing African excuse I was fain to be con- 


424 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


tent, as was poor stricken Madame Lavigne, who only want- 
ed, after all, the consolation of a friendly face, and to be 
somewhat reassured, as her own heart fainted within her in 
her loss of hope. 

There are days that may be likened to a gum elastic cord ; 
tense, miserable days, drawn out to an eternity of suffering 
by the agony of present anxiety, and the diligence of detail 
with which every movement is measured and counted and 
elaborated, and stretched ; but finally, when the tension is 
off, dying back again into a bitter brevity of remembrance. 
All that I recall of that year-like summer day, at this writ- 
ing, may be comprised in two sentences. 

At four o’clock in the afternoon, King, riding hard, 
brought a note from Bertie, containing four words j “ We 
have found him ; ” and at nightfall, as before, “ the body'” 
was brought home uncoffined. Unconsciously every heart 
had been prepared for the worst, and the subjugation of 
suffering had been too perfect to admit of an outburst 
like that which had greeted the return of the dead Walter. 

I had gone to my room ill, after the reception of Bertie’s 
note ; for this time the terrible office of executioner of hope 
had fallen on me *, nor could I raise my head again from its 
pillow during the rest of that dreary day. I was not one 
of those who saw the corse of Colonel Lavigne with its- ban- 
daged eyes, under which lay so fearful a mystery. Those 
warped and lurid orbs that had so often chilled my blood, 
were wanting now ; but they told me that the lips were 
fixed into a placid smile, and that the calmness of peace was 
spread over the whole aspect, as it had rarely been of late, 
when they composed him to rest in the home-made coffin, 
hastily knocked together, and closed by daylight, with an 
expedition which in itself was horrible from its very neces- 
sity. 

lie was found by Ossian, closely followed by Bertie and 
the negroes, Jura and King, (Mr. Gregory having declined 
to enter the jungle) in the swamp of “ Lesderniets,” lying 
beneath a cypress tree which had been struck by lightning 
the night before, with his feet tangled among the lilies, re- 
cently torn from the lake by the storm, and driven to shore 
and lodged in great masses among the cypress roots that 
projected out into the edge of the waters. He must have 
died during the night, either from exposure, or the effects 
of the lightning that destroyed the tree, though no trace of 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


425 


this last could be found upon his person ; and to complete 
the horror of the picture, and the strange retribution that 
pursued him, vultures had plucked out his eyes from their 
sockets — eyes so clear and beautiful in their natural ex- 
pression, so steadfast and straightforward at some seasons, 
so warped and wild at others. These are terrible and re- 
volting details, but in order to give any idea of the horrors 
that surrounded me at that period of tribulation, they must 
be given frankly. 

Long afterwards Bertie told me that she dimly remem- 
bered having had a revelation, though where or when she 
had forgotten, of the scene and circumstances of her father’s 
death, either in sleeping or waking, and it is to this day a 
matter of doubt to me, whether the unconscious action of 
my mind on hers in her nervous condition had not occa- 
sioned this vision, which seemed to me at the time, merely 
a wondrous confirmation of my own clairvoyant dream ; a 
coincidental revelation. 

These things are mysteries. How shall they be ex- 
plained, or when determined ? The answer is with God. 


CHAPTER XXVI 



^R. GREGORY came not often to Beauseincourt 
during their first dark days of bereavement, and 
Madge was not upheld as was Marion, by the 
strong hand of a lover, for the devotion of Vernon 
was undoubted now, and his affection had burst 
forth involuntarily while its object was weighed 
, down by sorrow. 

Few words had sufficed to set all right between those 
congenial hearts, and it was already understood that in the 
fulness of time they would be united forever, who had so 
nearly been divided by timidity and pride on one side, and 
mistrust on the other. Vernon was true as steel, but 
Gregory was wanting in the right ring of the metal. Still 
Madge forbore and confined, suffered and complained not. 

There was no lack of attention and devotion to the af- 



426 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


flicted family, on the part of friends and neighbors ; nay, 
rather too much of both, when it is considered that a visit 
in that region involved the trouble of providing entertain* 
tainment literally for man and beast, and a long day's ses- 
sion, and often a night’s lodging beside, when the visitor 
came from a distance. 

Madame Lavigne and her daughters were not equal to 
detail of this kind, and what I could do to save them I did, 
forgetting perhaps too much my own necessities of mind 
and body both, so that at the very time of the sailing of the 
packet on which I had meant to go, I was lying ill in my 
chamber at Beauseincourt. My last effort of strength was 
to write a few lines to Captain Wentworth, informing him 
of my frustrated intention, (to be put in effect, however, as 
soon as possible), and of the deaths of Colonel Lavigne and 
his son. This letter Jura himself carried to the office at 
Mauriceville, so that I was tolerably sure it would be 
mailed at least, and in all probability sooner or later reach 
its destination. Then after the fashion of sickness in the 
South, I collapsed suddenly, and was lost to the world for 
a few days, of fever, stupor, and delirium, after which I be- 
gan very slowly to revive again. Madge and Bertie were 
my nurses during this brief, but severe illness, and efficient 
ones they proved in conjunction with Aunt Felicite and 
Doctor Durand. 

“ You are looking very ill yourself, Madge," I said one 
day in my early convalescence, as I sat gazing on the sad 
sweet young face, rising from the black gingham dress with 
its frill of crepe, like a flower from an earthen vase. “ You 
have been shut up too much with me. You must go out 
more and throw off all such care from this moment. I shall 
get on admirably with Sylphy." 

“ No, it is not that, Miss Harz," said Madge, mournfully. 
“ I have been wanting to tell you all about it: no one else 
knows a word yet, but the truth is I am miserable. Mr. 
Gregory sailed for Europe a week ago, and the night before 
he left Lesderneir he came to Beauseincourt, and we had a 
misunderstanding, and — and — the end of it was, we broke 
off our engagement, and I fear I was to blame." Here 
Madge shed a few penitential tears. 

“ How was it, dear Madge ! tell me everything. I am 
quite strong now, and so anxious about this matter 1 To 
say the truth, I had feared " — I hesitated. 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


427 


“ Yes > I know,” drying her eyes ; “ because he did not 
come, you thought as all the rest did ; and I was irritated 
on account of these suspicions myself, though I never 
shared them, and was cross and reproached him, and his 
proud spirit took fire, and there was a rupture never to be 
healed, 1 fear. But how could I know he had been ill — too 
ill to write and explain the cause of his absence, or that he 
was so proud and unforgiving ? I am sure I never sus- 
pected him of such dispositions before.” 

“ Broud 1 he proud ! ” I could not forbear saying. “Un- 
forgiving enough, I grant you, as most mean people are.” 

“Oh! Miss Harz; you were always so severe on Mr. 
Gregory.” 

“ Because I know him so well, my dear,” I said dryly, in 
response. And he has sailed to Europe, you say ; on what 
account ? Sudden business, I suppose.” 

“ No, no ; just because I treated him so ill, he thought — 
here is his note,” and out of her dress pocket she drew a 
crumpled billet, often read, as it was plain, and stained 
with tears, not shed by his eyes of course, I knew at once, 
capable as he was on occasions, of playing crocodile. 

“ Now read it, dear Miss Harz, and advise me what to 
do. You see how wretched I have made him as well as 
myself. It is dreadful ; ” and again her tears flowed freely. 
“ And I know not where to turn.” 

Had I been alone I should have indulged in a sarcastic, 
if not merry laugh, over this Gregorian epistle, but as it 
was, I was bound to solemnity in that sacred presence of 
confiding, earnest, loving maidenhood. But nothing would 
have delighted me more than to have been permitted to 
place my pen in rest in the service of Madge, and to have 
replied to this hypocritical and cruel composition, sentence 
by sentence, analyzing it as I went, with the detailed cool- 
ness of a surgeon, scalpel in hand. I cannot give it now 
with sufficient accuracy to venture to transcribe it to these 
pages, but I remember well the art with which he managed 
to throw his own faithlessness into the form of offended dig- 
nity, and to make his cool desertion seem a despairing aban- 
donment of a hopeless suit and a relinquishment of claims 
on one who had ceased to appreciate or love him. In short, 
he feigned a headlong flight, desperate and unpremeditated, 
to a foreign country, in quest of peace 'and oblivion, since 
the woman he adored had covered him with reproaches 


423 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


meant only to conceal her own turpitude, (for he could no 
longer doubt the truth of that report which consigned her 
to another — and turned the light of her countenance away 
from him forever ! 

“ Who can he refer to, Miss Harz? ” Madge asked with 
grave simplicity, as I sat, letter in hand, after reading it 
twice over, looking on the floor, and considering profound- 
ly how best this wretched charlatan could be completely 
unmasked without too severely crushing her own feelings. 

“ Who can he be jealous of? Surely not Mr. Duganne, 
or Rupert Huger, or Vernon, or Edgar Finistere ? 1 cairt 

think of any others to save my life,” with her hand on her 
brow. 

“ He is not jealous at all, Madge,” I rejoined resolutely. 
11 He is merely a very false and cruel man seeking to dis- 
semble. If it kills you cast him off, and never think of him 
again, mean, mammon-worshipper that he is. Let him go, 
Madge, forever.” 

“ Oh, Miss Harz, do you — do you think it is that ? ” and 
again she wept and trembled. 

“ First the knife and then the cautery,” I thought. It is 
time that wound was seared, if it can’t be healed other- 
wise ; ” but I was silent until her urgency, by the repeti- 
tion of her question roused me to reply. 

“ Yes, my dear ; to be candid with you, I do think it was 
that and nothing else that drove Mr. Gregory from Lesder- 
neir, and the sooner you forget him the better.” 

“ Miss Harz, do you know what your words are doing ? 
They are killing me ; ” and she covered her face with her 
hands, and I, leaning back in my deep chair, was fain to do 
likewise, tearfully. Convulsive sobs shook her slender 
frame. 

“ Yes, you can weep with me,” she said at last, passion- 
ately, revealing her face once more; “but you never can 
understand how 1 have suffered, never — never.” 

“ Why not, Madge ? Do you think me deficient in im- 
agination or sensibility ? ” 

“ Imagination at a time like this ! ” she said, with flash- 
ing eyes. “ What mockery ! It is experience, sympathy 
you lack ; with all your worldly wisdom, you are hard and 
cold.” 

“ Are you quite sure that you would have patience to 
hear my experience, Margaret Lavigne,” i asked, ** even if 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


420 


X were disposed to give it to you in exchange for yours ? 
Do you think at a time like this your sympathies could go 
foith to another and to the past, for I who speak these 
words have trodden down serpents in my path as fierce and 
dangerous as those that iufest your own ? ” 

“ Tel1 me about it, Miss Harz, do tell me,” she said ea- 
gerly, her whole manner changing, and taking my hand in 
hers. “It may help to sustain me.” 

As briefly as I could, I then told her of my early attach- 
ment to Claude Bainerothe, its progress, its disastrous end, 
and the anguish I had surmounted in throwing it aside, and 
him, though proved unworthy. I unveiled, too, in this 
brief autobiography, much of my early history to her as- 
tonished eyes, and begged her in her own way, and at her 
own time to acquaint her mother, now too deeply stricken 
to lend ear to such details, with all that I had told her, in- 
cluding my father’s name, and my motive for dispensing 
with it for a season. 

That which interested her most, however, was evidently 
the story of my early misplaced affection, and the cruel de- 
ception to which I had so nearly fallen a sacrifice, the con- 
sequences of which still brooded above me. But not a word 
of the barrier which had so suddenly risen like a volcanic 
island from the deep, between me and Captain Wentworth! 
No syllable of this fresh agony which I vainly sought to 
S stifle, did I breathe to her eager ear. 

My early sufferings were on a par with hers ; these she 
could comprehend and compare with her own experiences, 
but should the bolt descend from his hand, for whom my 
affection was as wine unto water, compared with that 1 laid 
bare before her, there could be no redress, no recuperation 
possible. The very idea was madness, and from the neces- 
sity of self-defence alone must be dismissed, or grappled 
j with in bodily presence, as we strive to lay hands upon the 
! shadowy apparition of our own midnight vigils and compel 
; it to reality or banish it forever to save our reason. 

“ But all this sorrow is over now, Miss Harz, with you,” 
said Madge, with a deep-drawn sigh, unconscious of the 
bitter strife in my bosom, and wiping her sympathetic eyes, 

“ and you are happy again, beloved by a far nobler man. 
You will too, soon see your dear sister once more, and re- 
ceive what belongs to you, and triumph over your enemies, 
but I am bound hand and foot for life.” 


430 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


11 Nonsense, Madge ; it provokes me to hear you talk so ! 
Did the deceiver leave you no address, no clue to his 
whereabouts in Europe ? 77 

“ No ; oh no ! He was to sail from Charleston, you saw 
that in the note, and this is all I know about his move- 
ments. But I think he will write to me, and in a different 
spirit. I feel convinced that you have misjudged him, Miss 
Harz. There is Vincent Manigould, he too went off in a 
huff, and Miss Lemoine let him alone, and never noticed his 
proceedings, and — and — he came back again deeply peni- 
tent, and she forgave him, and they will be married . 77 A 
beautiful hope lit her face at this moment, yet I thought it 
my duty to say : — 

“ Let me entreat you, my dear Madge, to build up no 
such golden dreams on any precedent of nature, and to try, 
for your own sake, as far as in you lies, to unwind the coils 
that man or snake — this human serpent — has woven about 
you. Why, he is not even a white man, Madge . 77 Watch- 
ing closely the effect of these words. 

“ Miss Harz ! you shock, you amaze me ! 77 She spoke 
with kindling cheek and flashing eye. “ You jest cruelly . 77 

“He is an overseer’s son, as I happen to know, as Cap- 
tain Wentworth himself admitted ; and his mother was half 
Indian, half quadroon, and a slave. His talents are indis- 
putable and there are persons who would think none the 
less of him for such a blemish ; but you Southerners ! 77 

“ Oh, the very thought is horrible , 77 she interrupted, 
averting her face, and closing her eyes, while she lifted her 
hands as if to put it aside. “ One drop of that blood would 
sully an ocean of pedigree ! It is like a dead fly in a basin 
of milk, that spoils the whole. But I am sure you are mis- 
taken. It is Indian blood, if anything , 77 faltering. 

“ No, Madge ; I say it firmly. I heard this in Savannah, 
from a gentleman at General Curzon’s, who knows the truth 
and is fearless in uttering it (I never repeated it though, 
until now), a man who had no interest in misrepresenting, 
even if capable of it. He is a Captain Courtney, and the 
statement was made publicly. I had meant in time to in- 
form Walter, but you know how it all was ; and after- 
wards I had not the heart to strike the blow. But I fore- 
saw the end of his behaviour, and so did Bertie, from the 
hour when fortune forsook your house . 77 She bowed her 
head. 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


431 


“If I thought this true,” she murmured after a pause, 
“ it would be easy to give him up. But no ; it is a slander. 
Many such are propagated when complexion is so peculiar,, 
I will write to Captain Courtney myself if you don’t object. 
I will compel the truth," indignantly. 

“ so > Madge, if you like. You have my full permis- 
sion. Conviction struck to my mind at once, I acknowl- 
edge. There was a quadroon taint, undeniably,” Captain 
Courtney said, “ and his mother and father were never mar- 
ried ; but the old man, full of energy, rose from his condi- 
tion to fill some political post, and were that all, true love 
perhaps might pass it over.” 

“Never, never 1 Miss Harz; better death at the stake 
than such a marriage — such a blemish for a Southern lady! 
But, I thank you — thank you — though the information 
comes so late and carries death with it ; and if I could be- 
lieve it I should feel Only shame and regret for having loved 
him, — not another emotion.” 

“ I cannot see that you are called on to feel either, hav- 
ing been the victim of an infamous deception alone, from 
first to last. Mr. Gregory should have gone wooing far- 
ther North, under the circumstances.” 

“He tried it, you know, Miss Harz; tried and failed,” 
she said stolidly, glancing at me sharply. 

“ If you mean that he wanted to marry me, Madge,” I 
rejoined coolly, “you were never more mistaken in your 
life. Some effort at love-making there was, after the fash- 
ion of such men, but nothing serious or profound, believe 
me, on either part.” 

“ Oh, I never supposed you cared for him.” 

“ Madge, had he behaved differently I might have cared 
for him just as you did, for there was no obstacle in the be- 
ginning such as existed afterwards. He was a bright, 
agreeable young man when he chose to be, and captivating 
to some extent, and I was very desolate ; but 1 became 
convinced that he had a careless if not corrupt nature, veiy 
soon after our acquaintance, and it was a source of sorrow 
to me, to see him, day by day, winding his coils more and 
more securely about your innocent heart. Tear them off, 
my dear, resolutely. You will suffer, Madge, in this rup- 
ture, but nothing in comparison with what you must have 
suffered eventually in such a marriage. A day will come 
when, on bended knees, you will thank your God for hav- 


432 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


ing preserved you from such a fate ; for a permanence of 
peace and happiness. For I am clairvoyante, Madge, and 
your life is to be a prosperous one, I judge, after this dark 
cloud passes which now hangs over Beauseincourt.” 

“ It is very selfish in me, 1 know, to be so taken up with 
my own affairs, at a season of general affliction like this ; but 
for some days, this sorrow of mine has seemed the only re- 
ality to me, and all else has sunk out of sight. But I will 
try and be more dutiful, ” she said, clasping her hands. 
“ You must help me, Miss Harz.” 

“ May God help you, Madge, in your fierce trial, as he 
alone can. The more you merge yourself in others for a 
time the happier you will be. 1 dare say my own illness 
was in some sort a safety-valve for your feelings ; but that 
is past.” 

“ Yes, when you were so ill as to require constant nurs- 
ing I was better than 1 am now. Not that I wish you sick 
again, believe me, and do not rejoice at your recovery,” 
and she kissed me kindly ; “ but it was the interest of the 
occupation, you know. Oh, how flat everything seems to 
me, how utterly blank ! ” And the poor child covered her 
face once more, to hide her streaming eyes. 

That 1 pitied, yearned over her, 1 need not declare. My 
task had been a repulsive one, but for her sake, I had per- 
formed it, and I believe the truths I had told her about 
Gregory’s origin (learned accidentally as these were) did 
more to undermine him in her heart and opinion than all his 
presumptuous perfidy. So potent is the mark of caste, 
wherever it exists, so stern the barrier that God has set be- 
tween his races, and which none can pass with impunity. 

Just as Madge was washing away those vestiges of tears 
which women are so anxious to obliterate, when shed for 
such causes as those which had in her case touched the 
fountains of grief, the noise of wheels in the court-yard be- 
low attracted me to listen, and Madge to inquire of Sylphy, 
who entered opportunely, whose was this fresh arrival ? 

The pale cheeks of the poor little yellow girl and her 
straining eyes were in sad keeping with the dismally-whis- 
pered truth, “ Maginnis had come, and the Furies were to 
be let loose at Beauseincourt.” 

As Sylphy disappeared, a dark and terrible vision swept 
across my brain with panoramic swiftness, and I was fain to 
lean back exhausted in my chair, as it possessed my fancy. 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


433 


I saw the ruined and houseless daughters of Colonel La- 
vigne, helpless and unprotected, wending their mournful 
wa y from the roof that had sheltered them since they saw 
the light, accompanied by their stricken and perhaps dying 
mother ; for, so far, no sign of reaction had come to lend 
tone or energy to her nerves, or rouse her to exertion ; and 
such a blow, I felt, must be a finale to her life, or worse 
perhaps, her reason. 

In the background of this dreary picture I beheld the 
slaves, used to merciful moderation and even over-indulg- 
ence, huddling together in the slave-pen, or driven forth to 
labor in the accustomed field by the lash of the fresh task- 
master ; ill-fed, scantily-clad, and steeped in wretchedness 
to the lips, as all who belong in any way to such men are 
sure to be ; such men as Malcolm Maginnis and the class 
of speculators he belonged to, and aliens. 

In the complete absorption of my spirit I clasped my 
hands across my eyes and groaned aloud. 

** Miss Harz, I know what you are thinking about. He 
will foreclose the mortgage ; we know all about that now. 
We found it in letters contained in father’s desk. Marion 
and I read them while seeking for some other information 
that we never received, — never shall, I suppose, until the 
day of doom. Marion is out of the question now. Thank 
God ! she is beyond the whirlwind, and Bertie is too young ; 
besides her life is fair before her still. Don’t you think I 
would do in their place for such a sacrifice ? There is 
nothing left for me you know, but sorrow, and if I can avert 
this trouble from mother and the rest, why, my duty lies 
plain before me. I might as well marry one man as anoth- 
er now ; all are alike to me. I would give my life for my 
family, why not my happiness ? Say, do you think that 
Maginnis would compromise ? And won’t you sound him 
on the subject ? ” 

“ Madge, you are insane ! Before I would have anything 
to do with such a matter I would take a torch in my own 
hand and burn down this dreary old pile this very night, 
and roast Maginnis in the bonfire ! ” 

And as I spoke I drew her near to me and kissed her 
balmy face ; for she was kneeling beside me now, with her 
arms about me, earnest — agonized. 

** Thank God ! I stfall have my own roof above my head 
soon, dear Madge, a shelter, if no more, for every one of 

27 

. j 8 


* • « 


434 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


us ; and by the sale of some jewels and plate, yours and 
mine, we can live for a while ; and if the worst comes, a 
once-cherished plan of mine can be revived, and we can 
keep school in Monfort Hall, and eke out our subsistence at 
least. Anything is better, believe me, Madge, than a de- 
grading marriage, such as this would be. Maginnis is no 
gentleman. Let him do his worst. He can but take your 
earthly goods, from which the tabernacle of your soul is 
just as separate as the moon from the earth ! Rise up, 
Margaret Lavigne, and gird up your strength for this emer- 
gency, and put the past behind you like an ill-fiend. 
Young, strong, handsome, intelligent, honorable; just as 
you stand, you are endued with wealth of God’s giving, far 
beyond the gift of gold. Cleave to your womanhood, your 
independence, your trust in God, and go forth armed for the 
conflict.” 

I knew that my words stirred the old heroic strain in her 
blood, for she stood before me with folded arms and flash- 
ing eyes, poised, erect as a statue of Victory, excited, yet 
calm. 

“ How proud you are ! ” she said at last. “ How much 
prouder than any of us 1 Mere externes have no weight 
with you ; surely you were sent to sustain us in all times 
of our extremity.” 

“ Would I could think so, Madge ; but see, Sylphy is re- 
turning.” She had left the room immediately after her fear- 
ful announcement, and now in piteous agitation had present- 
ed herself again to summon Madge to the parlor, whither 
Marion had already gone. 

“ Anything to save mother’s feelings, Miss Harz, (for I 
must still call you so, the habit is so strong.) But what 
shall I say to that wretch 't ” 

“ Say ? Anything that comes into your head, Madge ; 
you can hardly go amiss. Your attorney is the man to re- 
fer him to should he touch upon business affairs, and if there 
is the least impertinence in his manner, you can very safely 
turn him over to Major Favrand or Mr. Vernon.” Laying 
to heart this counsel evidently, she reluctantly descended 
the staircase, and I saw her no more that evening. 

Such was the recuperative effect of that night’s sleep, 
that I was able, by making a strong effort, to join the fami- 
ly in the breakfast-room on the following morning, knowing 
as I did, how welcome would be my presence to the young 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


4S5 


girls of the house at a time like that, in the absence of 
their mother. Fcr still Madame Lavigne clung to the dark- 
ness and solitude of her chamber and the indulgence of her 
grief; and it was thought better to keep her in ignorance 
of all that might add to this in any way. On these princi- 
ples her daughters deemed it most fit not to acquaint her 
with the advent of Maginnis, or even if discovered, of his 
errand. 

On the principle of “ Fetish worship,” no doubt, which 
constitutes so important a feature in negro religion, the 
devil being considered in its rites a much more corruptible 
power than his master, and given like mortals, to a weak- 
ness for bribes and flattery, a superb breakfast was served 
up by the joint devices of Aunt Felicite and Jura, for the 
benefit of Malcolm Maginnis. Knowing how little consid- 
eration was given by its present hosts to the table of Beau- 
seincourt, I was really amazed at the fertility of expedient, 
and the elegance of arrangement that signalized this ban- 
quet. It richly deserved this title. 

The plate, usually neglected of late, had been cleaned for 
this occasion, and the decorated china arrayed. The finest 
damask cloths and napkins had been drawn forth, where- 
with to set these off to the best advantage ; and fish, fowl, 
and fruit, — delicate breads of many sorts and sauces of all 
descriptions, heaped upon the board in bountiful provision, 
as in former times on occasions of festivity. 

“ If dat doesn’t touch his heart nuffin’ will,” said Jura 
mournfully, to Bertie, when she surveyed the magnificent 
preparations with some surprise and displeasure. 

“ His heart, indeed ! ” was the reply ; for she understood 
well the allusion of the ancient servitor. “ Who cares to 
touch his heart ? that old Scotch pebble ! Some oatmeal 
porridge would have gone nearer to doing that, however. 
No ! starve him out, Jura, if you can, — you know how he 
loves to eat. Let him see poverty as dire as he wants to 
make us feel. Give him a haggis ! ” 

We sat down to table, a cold and uncongenial company ; 
though, as if by concert, Mr. Vernon and Major Favrand 
dropped in to add to the party ; the first constrained, the 
last impertinently disdainful in his treatment of Maginnis, 
who seemed stolidly disregardful of all proceedings. 

At Marion’s request I filled her mother’s place at the 
head of the table, and had the satisfaction of pouring out 


436 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


five cups of strong black tea for the rapacious Scotchman, 
who thus managed to wash down his enormous repast, pre- 
ceded by a bowl of coffee. 

“Them snipe is the first I have seen this season. Did 
you kill them, Favrand ? ” he asked familiarly of that super- 
cilious individual, to which inquiry no answer beyond a 
grim glance was vouchsafed by the “ Mars of the establish- 
ment,” as Gregory had wisely dubbed him. “ Let me tell 
you, though, Jura,” he added, as the major-domo obsequi- 
ously served him to a second bird, “ not to draw them birds 
next time ; it is against all rules of good living. Put them 
down entrails and all, if you want a connois-seer to enjoy 
them.” 

“ Did I venture to give orders in this house,” said Major 
Favrand, speaking between his set teeth, with a coolness 
that contradicted his sparkling eyes and his pale, com- 
pressed lips, “ I should command Jura to throw them out 
of the window, if ever brought to this table in such a con- 
dition ; and (you must excuse my frankness) the man who 
made the suggestion after them. Another cup of coffee, if 
you please, Miss Harz.” 

“ No offence intended, Major Favrand,” was the depre- 
cating rejoinder. “You Southern men are so hasty. 
What’s the use of a blaze in a bramble-bush ? ” 

“ Your excuse is accepted,” said Major Favrand, with 
haughty derision, “ and your incomprehensible proverb as- 
signed to well-intending ignorance ; but your valuable sug- 
gestions, while you remain beneath this roof, are respect- 
fully declined on my part, for the future, in the name of 
Madame Lavigne, whose kinsman and representative lam.” 

“ My stay beneath this roof will depend upon circum- 
stances,” said Maginnis, doggedly, “over which you can 
have no control ; it will be determined by others.” And 
he glanced expressively at Marion, who, flushing to the 
roots of her hair, drew herself up in her chair proudly ; a 
chair over the back of which Vernon flung his arm protect- 
ingly, and perhaps defiantly. 

“ At a time like this,” observed Vernon, “ strangers are 
out of place at BeauseincOurt, singularly so, and common 
delicacy should teach this fact to the most obtuse.” 

“ Give me another snipe, Jura,” said Maginnis, signifi- 
cantly. “ There seems to be a plenty and to spare, dead 
and alive, of them birds to-day, and it isn’t every one that 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


437 


is calm enough for good appetite. Some of the bread-sauce, 
man. Did your cook make this, or one of the young ladies ? 
It is the best I have tasted in Ameriky.” 

“ Where you tasted it for the first time, judging from your 
antecedents. So you like snipe-sauce, do you ?” said Fav- 
rand, laughing lightly, though his face had contracted and 
looked small, as Bertie said it always did when he was an- 
gered, and was yellow and clear as wax, from the entire 
concentration of the blood on the vitals. “ You shall have 
enough of it before you leave Beauseincourt, Maginnis. 
Mark me, according to your insolent application.” 

“ Am I to consider that as a threat, or a mere bit of play- 
fulness, such as you often indulge in with your equals, Fav- 
rand ? ” asked Maginnis, imperturbably. 

I confess I was amazed at the pluck he so far exhibited, 
as well as amused at the effect it was producing. 

“ Neither,” said Major Favrand, looking him full in the 
eye, “ but the promise of a gentleman, which is never 
broken.” 

“ Oh, ho ! you take that ground, do you ? A plate of 
hot rice cakes, King, my boy. Sip, flap these flies away ; 
annoying creatures that they are — the bane of this South- 
ern country. I much prefer the fan on pulleys, though, to 
a fly-brush ; ” glancing up at the lofty ceiling, as if. to see 
how one could be fitted there to the best advantage. “But 
‘ revenong a nos moutongs/ as my French friends say, in 
New Orleans. You take the high ground, do you, of the 
sacredness of a promise ? I am safe in your hands then, 
from this moment.” 

“ Don’t entrust your safety to them under any such delu- 
sion,” sneered Favrand. “ 1 ’Tis distance lends enchant- 
ment to the view/ I assure you, in this instance. Don’t 
mistake me for one of your national posts, and approach me 
too confidingly, I beg, for the sake of all concerned. To 
speak plainly, which seems essential in your case, the far- 
ther you keep from me, the more entirely out of my hands 
you are, the better off you will find yourself, Mr. Ma- 
ginnis.” 

“ ¥ou are two to one,” said the Scotchman, glancing 
from Favrand to Vernon and back again, “ and I did not 
come here to quarrel, but to get my own, and my own I 
will have in spite of you ; ” and he applied himself to his 
Dlate with renewed pertinacity. 


438 


MIRIAMS MEMOIRS. 


“The law will decide that point/* rejoined Favrand, bit- 
terly ; “ but there is one I will take upon myself to settle, 
when you have consumed your snipe/* And, wheeling off, 
Major Favrand was, or seemed to be, soon lost in the depths 
of a newspaper which he drew from from his pocket, while 
the ladies, all except myself, rose from the table, followed 
by Vernon, and retired simultaneously from the apartment. 

I was absolutely afraid to leave the two excited men to- 
gether, though the hope suggested itself that Maginnis 
might lie torpid awhile after such a meal, bolted anaconda 
fashion ; and that the rage of Favrand might subside to a 
more reasonable displeasure, or mere derision, in the inter- 
val. Still, for the moment, there was danger of more blood- 
shed, as if the libation poured to the Furies had not been 
already sufficient to propitiate and to satisfy them, and I 
remained to throw the barrier of my presence between these 
two irrational and absurd foemen. 

Looking at the matter from the cool standpoint of reason 
it was plain that Maginnis ought only to be considered in 
the light of an importunate creditor, whom it was more pol- 
itic to conciliate than to irritate ; nor was it rational to 
measure his blunt obtuseness by the standards of chivalry 
or high breeding. He was not even a pretender to these. 
He came to consummate a bargain or to claim his loan, and 
Vernon, I felt, was the proper man to deal with him, on the 
first account, as the protector of Marion, (a word from whom 
would suffice ;) and Mr. Schermerhorn, of Savannah, Colonel 
Lavigne*s attorney and man of business, on the second. A 
delay at law was all that could be hoped for, but this was 
much in the case of this afflicted and helpless family. I was 
therefore considerably relieved when Sylphy entered to re- 
quest Mr. Maginnis to join Mr. Vernon alone in the library 
immediately after the conclusion of his repast. 

“ Tell him I am coming/* said he, pouring out a bumper 
of claret from the Bohemian glass decanter before him, 
“ and here*s your good health, Miss Harz, and a husband 
to you ; and yours, too, Major Favrand, if you choose to 
accept of it and lend me a helping hand, instead of** feeling 
in his pocket with one hand for his pistol, probably, but 
only drawing out his handkerchief, “ kicking up a row.** 

“ Sir ! ** hissed Favrand, from between his set teeth, glar- 
ing at the stolid bon vivant, above his newspaper, in a style 
that probably hastened his departure, and certainly termi- 
nated the parley. 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


439 


Maginnis stumbled out of the room precipitately, and 
Favrand's face slowly relaxed into its original size and com- 
plexion as the clumsy figure of his foe faded from view in 
the distant gallery. A satirical smile rested upon his lips. 
He sat for awhile with his hands locked behind his head, 
leaning back in his chair, gazing after the departing Scot ; 
and then indulged in his favorite channel for surprise or 
relief of any kind, a long, low whistle. 

“ For fools rush in where angels fear to tread,” he mur- 
mured presently. 

“ He is no fool, Major Favrand ; but a sagacious, if vul- 
gar man,” I observed. 

“ Perhaps so ; but what does he gain by a visit made un- 
der such circumstances ? It is a process of law to foreclose 
a mortgage ; why not institute it at once, and leave these 
poor bereaved women to their solitude and grief, without 
thrusting his odious presence here at such a time ? As to 
Marion, that is sheer madness, in spite of the old man's 
desperate folly. You see 1 have heard about that, Miss 
Harz, and it was precisely such knowledge which incensed 
me so against this wretch and his odious familiarity. But 
Vernon will settle that score of course. As for me, I shall 
place half of my small savings, or Celia's legacy, rather, in 
General Curzon’s hands, to be used to defeat him, if possi- 
ble, right or wrong, and use all my credit and influence to 
induce that honorable and wealthy man to join me in my 
efforts. With Schermerhorn's assistance, a shrewd New 
Yorker, who seems to have been born again out of Black- 
stone, we shall, I trust, succeed, and if possible, he shall 
never receive one cent, not one.” 

“ But what he lent is legally and morally his own. Ma- 
jor Favrand, I know your punctilious honor.” 

“ Then you know that I abhor an usurer and commission 
merchant, both in one, almost as much as a negro trader or 
a Yankee, and deem them all fair game for gentlemen. 
There now, you have my code of punctilia. It would give 
me precisely the same pleasure to put Maginnis to loss and 
confusion, as to run a fox to cover; and I would use re- ^ 
morselessly, any hound of the law to do it. It is reptiles 
like him, far more than the army worm, that are the ruin of 
the Planter. But there comes Vernon, pale as a sheeted 
ghost. What can be the matter? Has Marion proved 
faithless at last ? Has the Scot triumphed in his love as 
well as war ? Has — ” 


440 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


Further conjecture was interrupted by the low, impressive 
communication of Vernon to Major Favrand, made loud 
enough for me to hear it : “ All hope of that kind is over 

now, Favrand ; there is no question of mortgage or delay 
at law. He has a deed of trust, and in ten days will be the 
master of Beauseincourt.” 

“ Where is the villain ? Let me see him about this. I’ll 
break every bone in his skin, the sneaking Scotch scoun- 
drel, to take such a base advantage.” And Favrand sprang 
to his feet, foaming with passion. 

“ He has gone,” said Vernon, detaining him with a pow- 
erful hand. “ Gone, by my connivance, to save you troub- 
le ; to return in ten days, during which every exertion must 
be used to shield these ladies from suffering. Before the 
appointed time we must remove them to Bellevue or else- 
where.” 

“ Bellevue ! I am only there by courtesy myself now, you 
know. There is no knowing how soon the incumbent may 
be down upon us. I have written to him urgently, as men 
~alk up to the cannon’s mouth, you know, when there is no 
escape, to come at once.” 

“ Does Maginnis know of Marion’s determination ? ” I 
-4ied. 

“ Yes ; and he knows mine,” replied Vernon. 11 1 gave 
him ten minutes to leave after our colloquy, promising him 
safe conduct on such conditions alone. The dog ! the low- 
flung blackguard ! It is for me to deal with him,” he mut- 
tered between his teeth, strangely shaken now. 

“ Better let me go after him and teach him manners, 
Charlie,” said Favrand, breaking from his grasp. 11 1 made 
him no promise, you know.” 

“ Major Favrand, if you respect me, let him go,” urged 
Vernon. “ This is not a matter to be settled with knife or 
pistol ; for Marion’s sake, — her womanhood is in question, 
— and for her father’s good name, let the matter stand 
where it is for the present. The man yielded with evident 
joy, all claim to Marion, preferring, as is natural to him, 
the golden alternative, and the compact he made with 
Colonel Lavigne must be fulfilled to the letter. Ilis advan- 
ces were enormous and will entirely cut up and consume 
Beauseincourt and its dependencies. I doubt whether even 
the plate and linen Madame Lavigne brought with her to 
her husband can be saved, so stringent and sweeping is 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


441 


this comprehensive deed of trust, which, without the lift- 
ing of a finger, puts Maginnis in almost immediate posses- 
sion of this property.” 

“ My God, what injustice ! Baffled, foiled at every turn 
by this crafty Scot, who seems such a thick-headed jack- 
ass ! Would all I have satisfy him?” and Major Favrand 
with outstretched hands, appealed to Vernon. “If so, let 
him have it, in God’s name. All 1 would ask in return 
would be a bed and a boot-jack and a seat at the table 
Louisa would never turn me out, and we might all be happy 
or miserable, as it chanced, together.” 

“ No ; nor twice as much,” replied Vernon, sadly. 
“This is not to be thought of, however. Let us look the 
matter in the face and bear it bravely, whatever it may be. 
I feel assured that Bellevue will be, for a time, placed at 
the disposal of these houseless ladies ; such a request could 
scarcely be refused by one who receives as his own, theirs 
and your rightful heritage. This youth is without family, 
and will, no doubt, be glad to accede to such a reasonable 
request ; and, by midsummer, we can make further arrange- 
ments. Write to him again, and at once, Major Favrand, 
and we may get his answer time enough to anticipate the 
coming of Maginnis. He is in Savannah, you say ? ” 

“ Yes ; I heard of him there when I wrote. lie has just 
returned from Europe, and was on his way to his own dreary 
plantation, somewhere among the black Jack hills of 
Carolina, when this news suspended his movements, and 
held him in mid-air, like Mahomet’s coffin. I want to have 
a look at the fellow, anyhow, who is to fill my vacated snail- 
shell, before I leave it. A man is seldom hard-hearted at 
one-and-twenty, and this cripple is no more. Mais nous 
verrons,” and he shrugged his shoulders spasmodically. 
“ They say deformed people are necessarily spiteful. 1 will 
write to him emphatically to come at once, and there’s an 
end of it.” 

“ Come here, Mr. Vernon,” I said softly, as Favrand 
marched out of the apartment tooth-pick in hand, an instru- 
ment which he affected almost as much as the Admiral de 
Coligny, of Huguenot memory. “ Come here and listen. 
I want to tell you what a nice large house I shall come into 
possession of on the fifteenth of September next, and how 
glad I shall be to receive a bridal party beneath its roof.” 
And I related to him as briefly as 1 could, the oircum- 


442 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


stances under which I had abandoned my heritage for a 
time, only to make sure of it at my majority. “I have al- 
ready spoken of this to Madge and Marion, ” I said. “ Ber- 
tie knew of it long ago. 1 shall sail next week for New 
York, and I want you to follow me with Madame Lavigne 
and her daughters, as speedily as possible. We shall have 
a peaceful summer, at least, and you will have time to con- 
sider the future.” 

“ But I cannot leave Lesderniers, Miss Harz, until Cap- 
tain Wentworth returns, or his substitute appears, in case 
of his resignation. Then I shall go elsewhere cheerfully ; 
and even if Marion and I accept not your hospitality from 
force of circumstances, I doubt not that the poor afflicted 
lady above stairs and her little girls will gladly avail them- 
selves of your offer. It would do them good, in any case, 
to get away from Beauseincourt for a season. So God 
bless you, for your opportune offer.” 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


KNEW that whatever of my own history I had com- 
municated to my new friends was implicitly believed, 
— implicitly, in the very sense in which De Quincy 
used the word, as a matter of implication, — with 
such qualities as they knew me to possess, as one 
reasons from analogy, or judges of the dubious or il- 
legible word in a sentence from the context. They 
believed in me, therefore they believed my story, strange 
and almost improbable as it appeared in its discordant 
homeliness ; but there was no one to confirm it either there 
or elsewhere, to whom reference could be made, or was 
even proper ; and in after years, when the influence of my 
presence should be withdrawn, or m}' enemies chose to gi\e 
them another version, it was just possible, 1 felt, that por- 
tions of it might be discredited. 

I was therefore relieved in mind, as well as rejoiced in 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS 


443 


more ways than one when an unexpected witness to the 
truth of much that I had related, stood suddenly before me. 

A few evenings after the departure of Maginnis, and 
while the circle of flame seemed narrowing around the fated 
family of Beauseincourt (for as yet no letter had come from 
the heir of Bellevue, whose very name I had never heard or 
inquired of, so utterly engrossed had I been with other sub- 
jects), and no effort had proved availing to raise the sum 
to pay off the trust mortgage that encumbered the estate, 
Major Favrand suddenly started up like a spectre in the 
twilight, as we sat in a half-circle on the gallery, near the 
library door. 

“ I have brought with me-my young guest, or rather, I 
am his, I believe / ’ he said, in a half-embarrassed way, as 
he pointed to the form that paused upon the step, as if un- 
certain how to proceed, and then suddenly emerged from 
the shadow, into the full glare of the library lamp. “ Mar- 
ion, Madge, this is your new neighbor, and I may say rela- 
tive. Miss Harz, allow me to introduce to your notice — ” 

“ George Gaston ! can it be ? ” I cried impulsively ; and 
in another moment the recognition was perfect on both 
sides.” 

“ You here, Miriam Monfort ! ” he exclaimed in a joyful, 
but agitated voice, which retained all of its boyish sweet- 
ness. “Oh, this is happiness indeed, — great, unexpected 
happiness, such as I had almost despaired of attaining 
again.” And he embraced me as my brother might have 
done had I possessed one, in the presence of all assembled, 
with affectionate delight. 

There was deep silence for a time, born of emotion, .be- 
tween us two, of delicacy and surprise in those surrounding 
us. Then came rapid explanations, such as seem almost 
electric when sympathy has been aroused and attention is 
awake ; and in a few moments it was understood that the 
chosen companion of my childhood and early youth was, 
through some strange fortune, the successor of Walter La- 
vigne, and the heir of Bellevue. Major Favrand alone, still 
in darkness as to my real name and history, stared wildly 
upon me ; but to all the rest, even to Vernon, by desire of 
Marion, the truth was known, which only needed confirma- 
tion like this to establish it beyond a doubt. 

“ Monfort,” he said at last, “ what in the deuse does 
that grand name mean in such connection ? Am I asleep or 


444 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS 


awake, or is this a drama we are all enacting ? Harz was 
quite good enough for us, and now we are to hear a new 
cognomen, and be puzzled to death to get used to it. Mr. 
Gaston and you are just getting up a little melo-drama, or 
what is it all about ? Will nobody explain matters ? or will 
nobody pinch me ? ” 

Then Bertie was deputed to acquaint Major Favrand with 
all the facts of the case, while I withdrew into the library to 
have a better view of George Gaston, and to hear from his 
own lips whatever he knew of my sister and friends, the 
last his own as well as mine, be it remembered. He had 
seen nothing of my dear one, but he had heard from Mrs. 
Stansbury and Laura, that Mr. and Mrs. Claude Bainrothe 
were in Paris witli Mabel and Mrs. Austin. Mr. Gerald 
Stansbury had met the child and nurse walking in the gar- 
den of the Tuilleries ; had stopped and spoken with them 
and inquired for me ; and heard in return that they had not 
the slightest idea of my whereabouts, or whether indeed I 
still continued to live. The subject was one that agitated 
the child so visibly that he soon desisted from further inqui- 
ry, but he found that Mr. Basil Bainrothe had very indus- 
triously circulated the idea of the probability of suicide on 
my part, which Mr. Gerald Stansbury had, from the first, 
indignantly 'refuted. 

“ No woman with a large, well-shaped head like Miriam’s 
ever committed such an act,” he had asserted ; “ no, nor 
man either ! When the brain is strong the powers of en- 
durance are equally so, and it takes twice as much to kill 
or upset an intelligent person as a fool any day, even when 
disease is in question. If Miriam Monfort is dead she died 
by foul means, and Bainrothe knows about it.” 

Thus had the passionate old man spoken straight out, 
fearless of consequences, as he always was when the truth 
was uppermost ; but, of course, such assertion, together 
with past differences, rendered any intercourse between the 
parties impossible. 

Doctor Pemberton had gone home some months before to 
resume his profession with renewed ardor and fresh light 
and experience ; and he himself had broken away from col- 
lege duties, under which his health was sinking, to rusticate 
for a time on his plantation, of which his majority made him 
master. It had never occurred to him, in his wildest 
dreams of fortune, although he knew that he was residuary 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


445 


legatee to the estate of Armand Lavigne, that he should 
ever inherit this noble property. He had heard that Colo- 
nel Lavigne had a large family, and naturally supposed that 
there might be several sons to succeed one the other ; nor 
indeed, was he by nature a worshipper of the god called 
Mammon, so that his mind had dwelt little on the subject 
with its attendant probabilities. 

Ambitious he certainly was, but he was yet too young to 
know how great an assistant to the attainment of such 
ends was to be found in money. He craved distinction ; 
his soul panted for the wrestle of mind with mind, in which 
a voice within him told him he might achieve victory, and 
that indefinite consciousness of power, so different from 
self-conceit, which impels all gifted creatures to the exer- 
cise of some peculiar energy, the speciality of their being, 
urged him to the arena. 

The law presented to him the fairest outlet for the class 
of genius he possessed, but he looked beyond this in his 
youthful aspiration, and hoped still to deserve well of his 
country, and make his clarion voice heard in her councils. 

The old proverb says, “ Poet nascitur, orator fit,” but I 
have ever thought that all eloquent lips were touched with 
fire in the beginning, by the hand of the Creator, and that 
he who has the power to stir men’s souls by the might of 
spoken words, is, in some sort, a divine prophet or oracle. 
Of such was this wondrous boy. There are some still living 
among us who have heard him speak from rostrum or at the 
bar, to whom all other eloquence has since seemed tame and 
dull in comparison, and wanting in the quality of inspira- 
tion — the true afflatus. 

There was a magnetism in his presence, too ; his manner, 
which seldom failed to work a spell upon an audience, and 
the beauty of his face, singularly boyish as this continued 
to be, even in the maturity of his manhood, the glory of his 
deep, dark eye and electric smile, the Grecian purity of his 
features and complexion, his statuesque head, so grandly 
placed, and so gracefully relieved by the short, thick curls 
of chestnut hair that covered it and clustered around his 
broad and sculptured forehead ; all these, in contrast, or 
perhaps it may be said in conjunction with his slight, deli- 
cate, warped figure, poised on a supporting cane in an atti- 
tude of singular repose and grace, had their effect no doubt, 
in establishing a prestige for the brilliant eloquence that 
succeeded his appearance. 


446 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


The frailty and imperfection of his physical construction 
appealed to the hearts of men, almost as forcibly as did his 
words to their imaginations, and he had that “ fatal gift of 
familiarity/' which Mirabeau, the elder, cited as the most 
fascinating and dangerous quality of his son. Men loved 
him, high and low, they scarcely knew why, as they never 
loved each other, with a mixture of tenderness such as they 
bestow on woman alone, usually, and hero-worship such as 
they rarely assign to their cotemporaries. His eloquence 
swept them from their feet, while his sweetness melted them 
to devotion, and his helplessness, united with undaunted 
courage, appealed to every sensibility of their natures. 

Then they too sympathized with his very faults. “ First 
in the forum, first in the fight, first in the frolic/' thus have 
I heard him characterized. Yet in his nature were no seeds 
of absolute vice, wild and often reckless as he afterwards 
proved himself to be when power and wealth had had time 
to do their work, and ambition itself had palled upon his 
palate. 

But at the time I write of, all this lay in embryo, and I lis- 
tened to his ardent plans, and watched his kindling eye, his 
speaking face as a fond sister might have done a brother's, 
partly in doubt, and partly in confidence. 

But few days remained for us of intercourse, but even in 
this time he renewed piteously and prayerfully, his hope- 
less suit to me. It was the old, old story. I told him then 
as I had told no one else, not only of my attachment and 
engagement to Captain Wentworth, but also of the invisible 
barrier, like that which met King Boderick at the door of 
the enchanted tower, and prevented his entrance, which 
had arisen between us, and which occasioned me such 
anxiety. 

He thought with me that my presence could best over- 
come this obstacle which had its root only in misapprehen 
sion, evidently, or some device of Bainrothe's, and but for 
my determined refusal to accept his services, would have 
been my escort on the voyage I contemplated. 

His passion for me, long dormant, 1 knew would soon 
drop to rest again, or give way to another more successful 
one, and so much of the fraternal element was blended in 
this affection, that I felt confident I should never lose it al- 
together, whatever disappointment my refusal might occa- 
sion now. 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


447 


Indeed, in my greater experience and knowledge of sor- 
row, I seemed to have outgrown this ardent boy by years, 
and looked down into his heart with the clear eyes of clair- 
voyance born of suffering. 

“ George/ ’ I said, “ you are rich, and therefore power- 
ful. Establish the beginning of your reign after the fashion 
of kings of olden time, by some act of clemency that shall 
signalize you forever. Major Favrand tells me that the 
property you hold is valued, at tax-gatherer’s rates, at half 
a million, though worth really more. Do you intend to 
hold it all for your individual use, or restore some of it to 
its lawful channels ? ” * 

“ What do you mean, Miriam ? ” he asked eagerly. “ Is 
it not legally mine ? Has not the will been established be- 
yond the power of contest on any part ? Major Favrand 
himself will receive nothing but the right of sojourn at 
Bellevue occasionally, as my guest. I offered him the place 
in fee simple, and an income sufficient to sustain it ; but he 
almost roughly declined iriy heartfelt offer. I feel that I 
have been repelled even rudely in that quarter. I can do 
no more.” 

“ Yes, I knew what his sentiments were on that subject,” 
I remarked, “ when I spoke to you ; but you will remember 
there was another whose immediate successor you are, cut 
off from the enjoyment of this estate by some fatality, only 
three days before the accomplishment of his majority, whose 
death involved his whole family in sorrow, ruin, and 
despair ! ” 

“ You amaze me, Miriam. I had supposed wealth to be 
the attendant on the very name of Lavigne. It stands so 
marked in public estimation ; and with a residence and 
grounds like these, troops of servants, superb accessories, 
(I remarked chiefly those of the table), I could not suppose 
any species of privation familiar to this household. But tell 
me of their necessities.” 

“No common ones, you will find, George, upon investi- 
gation; but as you value the blessing of God and the con- 
sciousness of justice, relieve them even at the sacrifice of a 
third of your estate. This can be done I know, speedily, 
through their friend, the principal banker of Savannah, 
General Francis Curzon, or perhaps he can point out to you 
some way in which by the surrender of the proceeds of one 
of your rice plantations for a few years, means may be real- 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


443 

ized to pay off the trust mortgage which hangs above this 
property, and which must be released, if ever, in the short 
space of ten days. Such respite, only, have they before — 
beggary.” 

He sat for a moment wrapped in thought; the pause of 
consideration, not hesitation. 

“ It shall be done,” he said, “ to-day, to-morrow, when- 
ever Major Favrand will go with me to Savannah ; and in 
the meantime, as life is uncertain, I will give him my obli- 
gation to such effect. Surely, under the circumstances, 
they have, as you say, a right to aid from me. Only three 
days before his majority, did y<5u say, Miriam ? What a 
fatality ! and the poor, doting father, dying broken-hearted 
in the swamp, whither he had strayed alone in the tempest 
like Lear. The whole thing is a dire tragedy ! Yet I nev- 
er thought, until you suggested it, of offering them any por- 
tion of the estate they came so near possessing. But tell 
me of Walter Lavigne.” 

And I told him of his bright and buoyant beauty, his 
resplendent youth, in which all good qualities of the young 
seemed to be typed ; his noble intuitions with regard to the 
use of means almost within his grasp, and which, but for the 
bitter whim of his uncle, must have descended at his death, 
to others of his family ; but nothing of his shame, his sor- 
row, his suicide, did I lay bare to foreign eyes, however 
swimming they might be in tears of sympathy. 

“ You are eloquent, Miriam ; you describe well,” he re- 
marked briefly, when I had ended, dashing away the briny 
drops which formed his tribute to my earnest words. “I 
make this bereaved family my charge,” and he rose sudden- 
ly, standing before me, leaning on his cane, which he al- 
ways threw slightly behind him when excited, and stretch- 
ing forth one hand impressively, he added, with his eyes 
raised on high, in low, firm accents, “ so help me, righteous 
God.” Then I knew that the reign of ruin and terror was 
over at Beauseincourt. 

W e lost no time in summoning Major Favrand and Mr. 
Vernon to solemn conclave. Both wept like children when 
the generous determination of George Gaston was made 
known to them ; and the papers were executed at once that 
set debt and Maginnis alike at defiance. 

As soon as he could speak, Major Favrand burst forth in 
one of his peculiar eulogies. 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


449 


“You see, Miss Harz, how little influence a Northern 
education exerts over a true-born Southron — one to the 
‘ manor born/ I do not wonder at this as Charlie Vernon 
does, a poor, benighted Yankee, though a clever fellow; 
for he is a Calhoun man, this splendid lad of ours, and loves 
the South and its institutions as well as I do myself. 1 
have felt much more reconciled to giving up Bellevfte since 
I found out his politics, for which he is soon going to place 
a fiery lance in rest. Yes, Gaston, you may fit me up a 
suite of apartments, and call them mine, since I find out 
what metal you are made of; and I’ll drink your champagne 
as I never would that of a Northern vagrant. Don’t bridle 
up, Charlie Vernon ; there’s no use. You’re only an excep- 
tion that proves a rule ; and now, boys, love each other as 
cousins should, for you are worthy to be of the same blood, 
even though you are not ; ” and holding out a hand to each 
he drew them together, and so locking, left them. 

“ The fine old fellow has gone out to take a good cry, I 
believe,” said Gaston. “Nothing in life does a man so 
'much good in grief or gladness, and it is only cowards who 
are afraid to acknowledge it. For my part, I would not 
give the woman’s element in me for all man’s boasted man- 
hood. There, Vernon, take the paper; he could not stay, 
it seems ; and — and — if 1 can do anything more for any 
of you, command me.” 

“You have done enough, Gaston, more than enough, al- 
ready, aijd may God reward you ; our thanks you have, of 
course ; you would not have us say much about them, 
though, I feel that.” 

“ No, no ; a rare piece of poetical justice, that is all, Ver- 
non, and so consider it, 1 beg. All of her suggesting, how- 
ever,” pointing to me with his cane. “ I should never have 
thought of it, I suppose. You see I scarcely realize this 
fortune yet, through the instrumentality of which I still 
hope to make many people happy, however, when I get 
used to the consciousness of possession — as well as to aid 
in a great cause,” I heard him murmur, “ which is not dead 
but sleeping.” 

And he stood for a time after the fashion of his life, ab- 
sorbed in thought, and unconscious of all other presence ; 
this youthful partisan, whose life, from that hour, was 
"vowed to the mighty struggle between South and North. 
The Esau and Jacob of America. 

28 


450 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


It was beautiful to see with what confiding affection those 
pure young girls, orphaned and portionless but for him, 
gathered around George Gaston, after his princely act, 
whether of justice or generosity, still princely, was made 
known to them. Their acknowledgments were guarded by 
good taste and pride, but every act, every glance betrayed 
their admiration, for of such a nature partook their grati- 
tude. Even Madge came out of her great trouble for his 
sake, and entertained him with some of the joyous spirit of old 
days, and Bertie met him with his own weapons, wit and 
oddity, and delighted him ; and Louey and Laura heaped 
treasures of grapes and figs, pomegranates and dowers 
upon him from morn till dewy eve, until he was fain to cry 
grace from their lavishness. 

Vernon surveyed him with real but distant respect, and 
Major Eavrand found a channel for his regard by numerous 
taps on the shoulder and half embraces, and kindly pledges 
at the board and elsewhere, made in Cognac or Burgundy, 
as the mood seized him, and only half shared by Gaston. 
For so far, the wine-cup was a stranger to his lips, and the 
sweet and serious training of his youth remained in full 
force with him. Alas ! that it should ever have faded ! 

Madame Lavigne aroused herself from her apathy of grief 
after hearing of this noble deed of his, to receive and thank 
George Gaston in her own apartment ; an ordeal for both, 
better past than pending; and once again the sluggish 
stream of hope began to swell her bosom. 

“ With my economy and frugal living, for all luxury must 
henceforth be banished from Beauseincourt on principle ; 
and the stricter government of the negroes, who must be 
made to earn their own livelihood and ours hereafter, we 
may still be independent, if not rich, Miriam / ’ said the 
mistress of the house, talking to me in calm, subdued tones, 
after this trying interview was over, and in her usual strain 
of confidence. 

“ What a nobly beautiful youth he is,” she continued, 
“in spite of his lameness, and the shortness of his stature, 
so different from his lordly, majestic height ! Ah, Miriam ! 
my perfect boy was unspotted by the world and is safe with 
his God ; but the blow was bitter, bitter, — and the crown- 
ing stroke almost unendurable. My poor, poor broken- 
hearted husband, what fate was like to thine ! I cannot 
submit to this affliction, cannot , strive as I will. I murmur 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


451 


and rebel eternally. I shall be glad when Mr. Farleigh 
comes ; he may strengthen me perhaps, to bear ; but 1 feel 
crushed, crushed ; and now that all is settled 1 wish that 
God would take me to himself. 7 ’ 

I knew that it did Madame Lavigne good to talk to me 
in this way. I felt that her grief needed such an outlet ; 
but even as I listened, 1 felt assured that many happy days 
were still before her to whom duteous children and a pleas- 
ant home were spared. She was not a woman of that tragic 
organization to whom grief is a decree for life ; nor did she 
know, might never know, I trusted, the truth with regard 
to these afflictions, which made them doubly bitter and di- 
rect. 

To her the crime of Colonel Lavigne, and the suicide of 
Walter, were sealed pages, and those who feel themselves 
badly used by fate recover from sorrow far sooner than they 
who are fain to acknowledge the justice of its retribution. 

These last are the hopeless, mourners of earth, these fel- 
ons of adversity, so to speak, who wear the ball and chain 
for their own acts, or those of others dear to them, who 
dare not lift up their eyes to heaven and complain, a comfort 
to the afflicted from the time of Job to our own ; but who, 
bending sorrowful looks upon the earth, may only tremble 
and endure, not always finding heart for the solemn utter- 
ance of submission, “ Father, thy will be done ! ” 

For such mourners ther^ is but one sure solace, religion ; 
one refuge, the grave ; one hope, eternity. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 


§ T was the last day at Beauseincourt. I had passed 
the morning in dutiful attendance on Madame La- 
vigne, the afternoon in packing my trunk, surrounded 

f by my pupils, and as many of the waiting-maids of 
the establishment as, under any possible pretext, 
could insinuate themselves into my chamber ; and 
after all these had disappeared, had finished off with a 
bath, a ten minute’s siesta, and a careful if simple toilet lor 
the evening. 


452 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


For I knew that some of the neighbors were coming in to 
bid me farewell, and that the great saloon with its well 
waxed parquet, over which the feet slid as on ice, would be 
filled on the occasion with quiet, decorous visitors, observ- 
ant of the solemnities of grief, and not forgetful that three 
weeks before, they had been there assembled on two seve- 
ral funeral occasions. 

Supper was delayed for the arrival of these self-invited 
guests, many of whom were to remain all night ; among 
others, Doctor Durand and his daughter Alice, bound, like 
myself, the next day, for Savannah, and who were to take 
advantage of the going and coming of the Lavigne coach, 
sent for my express benefit, for the accomplishment of. their 
journey to and fro. 

Major Favrand and Mr. Duganne were also to be of their 
party to the city, the first bound thither on important busi- 
ness, the second as escort to Miss Alice Durand, to whom he 
was already transferring his attentions, and the early moon- 
light would, we knew, be the signal for these arrivals. In 
the interval I sat chatting with George Gaston. 

“ Tell me of this family of my adoption/ 7 he said at last ; 
“ characterize them for me, Miriam ; I am not quick at 
character. 77 

“ You dreamers seldom are, George. 77 

“ Yet I read Claude Bainrothe long before you did, Miri- 
am, 77 he rejoined, with sudden inconsistency. “ Acknowl- 
edge that ! 77 

“ Ay ) simply because he broke upon your day-dreams, 
and your instincts were startled 1 77 

“ Strange distinction, yet perhaps correct. I am too 
much as one who goes forth into a garden in search of a pe- 
culiar flower, in a certain spot, and if he finds it not, re- 
turns disregardful of all others, empty-handed. 77 

“You mean that if you do not set to work to study out 
the problem of character, it will never chance upon you. 77 

“ Even so 77 

“ But you have eyes in your head, for all, George, like 
other men, and I have seen them turned frequently upon 
Marion, and Madge, and Bertie ; what do they tell you ? 77 

“ That one is beautiful, the second attractive, the third 
plain perhaps, but remarkable ; but they reveal no more. I 
want to know what qualities these young girls possess ; 
which to make my friend, which my inamorata, which my 
intellectual target. 77 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


453 


“ You have placed them in due order, George ; but Mari- 
on is betrothed, remember. The others are free as air, 
(that is, I consider them so), though both have had peculiar 
sorrows, that have tried them as fire tries virgin gold, and 
they are refined and perfected by the process.” 

You interest me at once. What griefs could they have 
had that Marion has not shared ? ” 

“ Some day you will know, perhaps, though certainly 
not from me, the confidante of both ; accidentally however, 
1 must confess, in one case, which makes it an Irish bull, to 
use the word confidante at all, perhaps, in such relation. ” 

“ Yet not less gecurely in one instance than the other, are 
you bound to secresy, it seems/’ 

“ Oh, yes ; the very discovery begets the necessity, of 
course, as a point of honor. But of this let me assure you, 
they are heroic girls ; pure, noble, maidenly, unworldly, 
worthy to be the wives of princes, if such could be found 
in this our model republic, where all are sovereigns, how- 
ever/’ 

His slight lip curled. “ Model maelstrom, rather,” he 
replied, “ in which power all tends to the centre ! Our 
Ship of State is steering thither fast.” 

“ Oh, George ! this is too much a passion with you ; this 
question of State rights. Is it great, is it patriotic, to 
dwell upon it so entirely, in your system of politics ? Is it 
wise, even ? ” 

“ Is it great, is it patriotic, to love your home, your 
hearth, your family, better than those of your neighbors. 
Miriam ? You argue against the noblest prerogatives of man 
when you set up a nation against a province, with its own 
peculiar laws, habits, associations. Greece was a confed- 
eracy, but Athens and Sparta were watchwords to their 
sons.” 

“ We will not argue about these things, George, on the 
last evening perhaps, of our earthly commune ; although I 
see what visions have possession of your spirit, to the ex- 
clusion of your own happiness, I fear. I was reared in 
deep respect for the Federal government, you know. My 
father, as an Englishman, believed in the concentration of 
power centrally, and considered the British constitution su- 
perior to all others, even our own ; which was saying too 
much, perhaps. It would be difficult for me now to em- 
brace new tenets of political faith. I rest content with the 


454 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


1 goods the gods provide.* We have safety for life and 
property, protection at all points, religious liberty, what 
else could we desire ? ** 

“Much, much/* he murmured; “but, as you say, Miri- 
am, these discussions are not for women, or for parting oc- 
casions, though I will uot despair of a speedy re-union with 
you, dear, self-willed friend, who will not even permit my 
escort on your journey to Savannah, who will not — ** 

“No, George,** I interrupted, “ you must stay here and 
get better acquainted with your adopted sisters. If I were 
to take you away now new temptations might beset you, 
and your return be uncertain, or unimportant, compared to 
your continued presence, now. There is so much in their 
lot that you can assuage and ameliorate by your genial com- 
panionship. Then Vernon ! I want you two to know and 
love each other, to strike hands for life. He is to marry 
Marion, you know, some day, and then you will be broth- 
ers.* 

“Marry Marion! Yes, that is the way, always. The 
beautiful women of the earth turn to their parallels, and, 
above all things, rate physical perfection. Beyond all else, 
I have noted well their horror of the slightest deformity. A 
man may be ever so commonplace, so that he is straight of 
limb and tall of stature. Miriam, no man with a leg like 
that,** and he thrust forward his shortened and twisted 
limb, “ ever won the true, disinterested love of woman. 
Byron, himself, could never do this, you know ; for I count 
that Italian passion worse than nothing, such as he alone 
engendered.** 

“ Yet I heard a young lady say, hot long ago, that intel- 
lect was all in all to her in the choice of a husband, and that 
deformed or crippled, she would prefer its possessor to a 
handsome simpleton ; a young lady who, at the time she 
made the remark, had a very graceful, tall, and straight- 
legged beau, since gone to parts unknown. Not very defi- 
cient in mind, either.** 

“ She sent him off because he was not deformed ; is that 
the inference I am expected to draw ? Pray who was that 
extraordinary young person, and where can she be found ? 
I want to wear her colors, and break a lance for her sweet 
sake at the next tournament.*’ 

“ Her colors are sable, now, George, and her name is 
Margaret Lavigne. The remark was made with no individ- 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


455 


ual reference, and I have reason to fear that, though her 
hand is free, her affections may not be. But this you can 
ascertain on inquiry.” 

He laughed his short, sweet, sudden laugh, throwing 
back his head as he did so, — his old, childish habit when 
amused, and shaking his brown curls. 

“ 1 do believe you are trying to turn match-maker, Miri- 
am ; but it will never do ! I shall not marry with all my 
cares and infirmities. I shall make the South my bride, 
since you will not accept me. I have loved you too well 
and long to forget you lightly. That love had its root in 
my childhood, and will go with me to the grave, I fancy.” 

“ They are coming now, George,” I said, “just in the 
nick of time to prevent personalities. I am afraid you were 
going to scold me.” 

“ Miriam ’ ” and he kissed my hand reproachfully, while 
Doctor Durand and Major Favrand were hanging their hats 
in the hall, Southern fashion, and bustling as they only 
could do in performing this slight ceremonial. They came 
in empty-handed and bare-headed, and talked as men so dis- 
embarrassed can alone converse ; eye and gesture equally 
free and sympathetic with word and feeling ; conventionali- 
ties of parlor bondage dispensed with and forgotten. How 
different from the doleful wights I have seen nursing their 
silken sugar loafs on patient knees, with fingers disabled of 
all natural grace and usefulness by the pressure of tight kid 
gloved, and encumbered with a charge, — a cane perhaps, — 
in addition to the beaver, that riveted both soul and sense. 

For, believe me, my gentle friend, whatever may be your 
attractiveness, the magnet of your fashionable visitor will 
be the hat he cherishes with such tender care as never to 
lose sight or grasp of, for one moment of his parlor exist- 
ence, so that it becomes a type of self-consciousness at last, 
and monopolizes his being. 

There is so much character, too, in hands, setting aside 
their beauty, and the positive necessity of cleanliness which 
exposure enjoins, that I wonder how any man wishing to 
produce an impression as a conversationalist, should discard 
the use of such auxiliaries. It may be a prejudice of mine, 
but I believe that the superior elegance of form and grace 
of motion of the Southern hand, as a general thing, arises 
from the complete contempt of gloves and the consequent 
freedom of gesture coincident with impulse. 


456 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


Now, Doctor Durand had a brown and hairy hand, weath* 
er-beaten, nervous, strong ; but it possessed the generous 
width between the thumb and finger, the artist loves, and 
was the very opposite in all things, of ape formation. As 
for Major Favrand, his hands, as I have said somewhere 
else, l believe, were too small and taper to escape the cen- 
sure of being finical ; but to touch the keys of a flute, impel 
a billiard ball, or direct a pistol or sword accurately, better 
were never framed nor imagined. 

“ Have you heard the news, Miss Harz ? ” said Doctor 
Durand, after he had settled himself down beside me on the 
sofa, and wiped his slightly bald forehead with a banner-like 
cambric handkerchief, in the corner of which Major Favrand 
had mischievously sketched a conspicuous skull and cross- 
bones in indelible ink, as " Durand — his mark I ” 

I could scarcely help smiling as he flourished it, remem- 
bering the time when six new ones, just imported from Mau- 
riceville had been ruined in this way, one evening, for the 
amusement of a circle of idlers, who impertinently unrolled 
these purchasesjM the doctor’s, which he would not hear of 
surrendering for such a disfigurement, nor consent to have 
replaced by the penitent artist. 

“ The news ? Why specify, where there is so much, Doc- 
tor Durand ? You can’t think how many strange things 
have come to pass since you were here. But give us this 
particular bit of news as a sedative to my curiosity before I 
communicate one word of mine.” 

“ Well then, the ‘ President’ has gone down at sea, it is 
supposed, with every soul on board. Is it not terrific? 
Sail ships were always safest, I am convinced. I have no 
confidence in ocean steamers. It is absolutely tempting 
Providence.” 

There was a pause. Major Favrand was vainly tele- 
graphing behind my chair, I found, on turning my head 
suddenly, following the direction of Doctor Durand’s eyes, 
distended in amazed interrogatory. Have I not said before 
that hints were thrown away upon him and signs as well ? 
His acumen was solely medical. I had grown a little pale, 
I confess, at this announcement, but now I said calmly, — 

“ * It does not matter, Major Favrand ; I am no believer 
in omens, only in destiny.” 

“ What in the world are you driving at, Favrand?” al- 
ways some mystery. I hate mysteries, 1 confess ; always 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


457 


have, though compelled to observe them sometimes in my 
profession. Can’t a man talk of what the papers are teem- 
ing with ? What nonsense I Is there any one likely to be 
on that ship that you care about, Miss Harz ? ” 

“ No, no ; I have no idea of such a thing ; but I am go- 
ing out myself soon, on an ocean steamer. It was that Ma- 
jor Favrand was making signals of distress about ; he is so 
superstitious, you know. Don’t mind him though, in the 
least, doctor. I am not disturbed, I assure you.” 

“ You look very pale, though, for all. I’ll be hanged if 
you don’t. I never saw such a girl in my life. I can’t tell 
how to take you. One time strung like a Roman cross-bow, 
another trembling like a mimosa in the swamp. Sometimes 
I say to myself ‘ This Miriam Harz would make a good ar- 
my surgeon’s assistant, or an admirable hospital nurse ; she 
has nerves of steel.’ And the next moment down she goes 
in a swoon, like the old man’s cow, in the story. Bless 
my soul, what a strange compound you are 1 There, sniff 
your aromatic vinegar. I see I have put my foot in it, and 
the Lord above knows how I hate myself for having annoyed 
you unnecessarily, on this your last evening at Beausein- 
court. Well, it will teach me a lesson, perhaps ; or, at 
least, so I fervently pray.” 

“Amen,” said Major Favrand, so quaintly, that I found 
relief in a little nervous laugh, in which the good doctor 
joined somewhat feebly, I thought, and I was glad to call 
in a fresh element of discourse in the shape of George Gas- 
ton, who now approached for an intivoduction, at my sum- 
mons, leaning on his cane. 

“ The new Lord of Bellevue,” said Favrand, lightly. 

“ George Gaston, Esquire, let me introduce to you Doc- 
tor Durand, the best physician in the South,” I said in con- 
tinuance ; and there was the usual shaking of hands and 
gratulation of manner consequent on all Southern introduc- 
tions. 

“ Le roi est mort, vive le Roi,” added Favrand, wheeling 
off carelessly. 

“ I wish he would not say such things, Miriam,” com- 
plained George, in a low voice, to me alone. “ It places 
me in such a false position. What must these people think 
of me, powerless to reply in any way. I will not, cannot 
consent to displace Major Favrand, seeing how he feels. I 
shall never set foot at Bellevue again, unless he continues 


458 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


to exercise ownership there ; it is too mortifying. It may 
be shut up else, and Laura and Aunt Stansbury and I can 
find our home elsewhere.” 

“ Make allowances, George, for the sudden bitterness of 
this change to Major Favrand. He is very impulsive, very 
noble, though, at heart. He means you no annoyance, be- 
lieve me ; no inconvenience, even.” 

“ He must be reasonable, then, and consent to be my 
host during his life, on the occasions of my few and short 
visits to Bellevue. That is, unless he fixes his home else- 
where at my expense, and through preference.” 

“ This he will do, George ; at his own only, however, I 
know. It is his intention to abide chiefly in Paris ; I had 
this from his own lips. For the present, he will remain 
here I think, if you urge it ; and if he knew how you felt, I 
am sure he would never repeat his offense to your delicacy. 
He is not very fond of Bellevue, I think, however. He is 
blunt, sometimes, I know ; a very proud, passionate man, 
naturally, ' suddenly cut off at the knees/ as he expresses 
it, ' and disabled from action/ but with great qualities un- 
derlying all the frivolities of his outward seeming.” 

"But he makes me feel so badly, Miriam! I hung my 
head like a thief just now, when he quoted that absurd old 
French proverb, applicable to that people of in grates alone.” 

" Applicable to most people, George, I assure you ; but 
happily not to those before whom, and for whose benefit it 
was quoted. Doctor Durand is very disinterested and quite 
devoted personally to Major, as he was to Madame Fav- 
rand. Such friendship is rare and delightful, may you de- 
serve it as well.” 

“ Miriam, I’ll tell you what it is ! I sha’n’t stay much in 
this neighborhood, unless matters change in their aspect. 
I don’t want to be looked upon as the porcupine occupying 
the snake’s hole, we read of in iEsop’s fables. I want my 
constituents to love me as well as elect me ! ” 

“ Always a political dreamer, George. Your Aaron’s rod 
is ambition, I fear, and always in your hand; ” and I laid 
mine lightly on his shoulder. " Come, let us go to supper, 
and forget in the lap of rice waffles, and the balm of coffee 
that you are so wretched as to be the wealthiest man of 
your age in Georgia. Give me your arm, George.” 

“ No ; I’ll be hanged if you shall. Go to supper on your 
own hook, Mr. Gaston. I claim to escort Miss Harz to the 


MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 


459 


table to-night/ perhaps for the last time in my life-.” And 
there were tears in the doctor’s voice as well as in his hon- 
est eyes as he drew my baud, reluctantly relinquished by 
George, under his arm. 

“ But I will come back again, doctor.” 

“ 1 don’t believe one word of it. Who would that could 
stay away ? And as for me I am bound hand and foot at 
Lesderniers for life, by the sternest of masters. 1 shall 
have the satisfaction of seeing you off, however, which is 
something, and now and then, when Favrand and Gaston 
go North, shall send you a message. As to letter-writing, 
1 have forgotten the art, and you will never waste the 
scrape of a pen on a dreary old country doctor, I know.” 

“ Indeed, you wrong me there. I shall write to you — 
let me see — yes ; the very seventh letter 1 write after get- 
ting home, shall be to you. Shall it be long or short ? ” 

“Oh! as long as a woman’s story, by all manner of 
means ; and that you know is immeasurable. But, seri- 
ously, I should feel such an attention the greatest compli- 
ment.” 

“ Your due, no more ; which you won’t suffer me to pay 
in any other way, just now. I consider your medical visits 
impositions on my share of the declaration of independence, 
and a reproach to my poverty, under the circumstances, and 
shall resent this in my own way, some day, doctor.” 

“ You are a spiteful witch, 1 know ; but this subjugation 
of a strong-minded, magnetic agent, was too good an oppor- 
tunity to be lost, and 1 shall continue to hold you thus in 
bondage as long as I can.” 

“ I cry you grace, doctor,” I whispered; ” I mean for 
permission to hear the grace which Mr. Fairleigh is about to 
give us. I had no idea he had arrived,” and I ceased 
as a tall and dignified man, white-haired and marble- 
browed, rose with uplifted hands to bless, in a few earnest 
words, the bread we were breaking ; truly apostolic-looking, 
according to our ideas of those early followers of the Naza- 
rene, was the Right Reverend Enoch Farleigh.” 

“ He will be a comfort to Madame Lavigne, I trust,” I 
murmured when he had finished. “I am truly thankful he 
came at this crisis.” 

“ So you consider your departure a crisis. Conceited 
puss ! You talk as if your stay here had been a continued 
lever.” 


460 MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 

“ So it has, doctor ; ” I rejoined gravely. 

‘‘To others, not yourself, then. Wentworth and the 
like. But where is Gregory ? ” 

“ Gone, never to return, I trust.” 

“ Would Madge say ‘ amen 1 to that, think you ? ” 

“ I hope so ; for he is unworthy of her. But not a word 
on the subject now or hereafter. It is a most delicate one. 
You will bear this in mind, won’t you, and make no inqui- 
ries. As to Mr. Gaston, I commend him to you, especial- 
ly ; he is noble, gifted, but young and impulsive ; and he 
wants an honest counsellor, and a good wife.” 

“ You are a good friend, that is certain, Miss Harz.” 

“ I am glad you appreciate yourself so highly, doctor, as 
to praise me for placing my friend under your protection. 
Yes ; I hope I am a good friend as well as a bitter enemy.” 

“ Why, you should love your enemy, you know ; if you 
mind the good book.” 

“ But I don’t ; I can’t. I was never made to do that, in 
the beginning. I had too much of the blood of Esther in 
my veins.” 

“ But you would not harm your enemy ? ” 

“ I can’t tell what I might do if a fair opportunity pre- 
sented itself. Revenge is sweet. I would commi no 
crime, of course, on my own account ; but if my enemy 
were hanging on a tree I should not turn out of my way 
to cut him down ; nor would you, doctor, if I know you.” 

“ Monstrous ! how dare you utter such heresies ? Let us 
have a cup of this white Burgundy together, for the last 
time, perhaps ; poor Lavigne’s tears of exile, you know. 
Ah, that New Year’s dinner ! ” and he shook his head dole- 
fully. “You remember it? Shall we ever see the like 
again ? ” 

“ Remember it and its bitter consequences? Yes; and 
trust indeed, never to see its like again, as you must 
also.” 

Strange mirage of the brain ! As I raised the glass to 
my lips, and murmured these words, the seat at the foot of 
the table, always empty since the death of the master, 
seemed suddenly filled, as does the chair of Banquo in the 
play, and again I met the glare of those lurid eyes, so 
dreaded once, and saw the long, lithe, lifted finger raised in 
menace or in warning, as the phantom vanished. The glass 
fell from my nerveless fingers, unpledged, and shivered to 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


461 


atoms on the plate before me as if stricken down by a view- 
less hand, and for a moment a blind terror, engendered by 
this delusion, possessed me, soon conquered and put aside, 
by the force of reason, in all save its results. 

“ I am nervous, ” I said. “These parting pledges are 
trying ordeals, doctor. Let us have no more of them. I am 
not usually so careless.” 

“Another plate, Jura; another glass; and now, what 
will you have, Miss Harz ? ” 

“Nothing — anything. Keep all those eyes off of me or 
I shall give way. You can’t tell how I feel. Heap my 
plate yourself, and fill my glass, but do not expect me to eat 
one mouthful. I am choking — a glass of water, that is all 
I need.” 

“ Strange versatility of mood ! ” I heard him murmur. 
“You are a physiological study, Miss Harz,” speaking in an 
under tone. “ What shall I compare you to? A charged 
thunder-cloud in summer, in a sunny sky. A — ” Sudden 
was the impulse of confession. 

“ Bird with a broken wing, more like,” I whispered, 
“singing out of its agony. But let this pass. Do take 
wine with Mr. Gaston, he is the stranger here to-night. 
See, I will join you.” 

“ True, true ; ” and the “ tears of exile ” went on their 
sparkling way to the other end of the table, where the love- 
ly face of Marion rose behind the coffee-urn, near which 
Vernon and Gaston were doing their best to entertain 
Madge and her sister. Bertie was of course still in the 
background ; besides, she loved best to play the part of 
“looker-on in Vienna,” one of the greatest enjoyments in 
life to sagacious observers like herself, not oppressed with 
self-consciousness, or the fatal wish to shine ; but taking 
the wave as it comes, like a seaside loiterer, who stoops for 
his shell alone, when the billow brings it tamely to his feet. 
Her treasure was not yet ; but she was one who could pa- 
tiently bide her time, I felt, and in the meanwhile enjoy to 
the utmost the goods of others. She would still have her 
day of triumph, and stoop to raise her pearl, and be loved 
as she deserved, I well believed. 

Thus prophesied my heart, so peculiarly bound up in her 
welfare and hapniness, that I was blinded to the reality of 
her wayward and eccentric organization as a never-ending 
source of sorrow and disappointment on her path through 


462 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


life. I could not then forbode what afterwards befell her, 
despite the clairvoyance of my affection, and for this and 
many other spirit utterances of mihe while at Beausein- 
court, I deserve perhaps to join that class of prophets who, 
according to Dante, are to walk crabwise through eternity, 
with averted faces, in penance for having in this life issued 
false oracles. 

Mr. Fairleigh, 1 found in my brief conversation with him 
after supper, to be a man of culture and dignity. His se- 
rene and noble face spoke of a soul exalted and undisturbed 
by petty considerations ; and I could well conceive how 
precepts from his lips might comfort and persuade one so 
confiding, so good, so gentle as Madame Lavigne. He was 
the instructor of her youth, of whom she had before spoken 
to me so admiringly, it may be remembered ; and he had 
come now, after the fashion of the good Samaritan, to pout- 
oil into bruised and bleeding wounds. Even Doctor Du- 
rand, who had a turn for materialism, and valued ministers 
as secondary considerations, looked hopefully to the result 
of Mr. Fairleigh’s mission, ineffectual as he had found his 
own remedies in the case of Madame Lavigne. 

The last evening at Beauseincourt was over ; the last 
good night said to tearful and sobbing pupils, gentle friends, 
kind domestics, and it was late before my weary head had 
leave to seek its pillow, on which a deep sleep enthralled 
me for a few hours, almost as profound as the habitual slum- 
ber of Bertie, who lay locked in repose beside me. 

It was three o’clock in the morning when I awoke re- 
freshed and calm ; my repeating watch told me the hour, I 
remember, in the absence of light ; for the taper had gone 
out, and the closed jalousies shut out the shimmering moon- 
shine ; and without further disposition to repose, and fol- 
lowing the impulse that had often led me thither at the 
same hour, I softly unclosed the door of my chamber, and 
stepped forth with bare feet and in my night-dress on the 
smooth floor of the gallery on which it gave. It was a 
broad, low-rooled portico, making a right angle at the junc- 
tion of the ell and main building, and following the whole 
course of the rear of the mansion, so as to make its entire 
length more than a hundred feet. Pillars of wood support- 
ed this comparatively recent addition to the house, around 
which vines were wreathed, but none so vigorous as the su- 
perb Augusta rose which had been destroyed by the flames, 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 463 

and which had in its time sheltered the entire wing from the 
effects of the burning summer heat. 

I had derived great and constant pleasure from the undis- 
turbed possession of this place of promenade during my 
whole sojourn in the house of the Lavignes. Often when 
my mind had been distracted with anxious cares, I had liter- 
ally walked down its excitement and anguish in my fierce 
and rapid movements to and fro, over ifs smooth painted 
floor, the daily care of Sylphy, who might be heard in the hot 
season busily employed in refreshing it with mop and broom 
and water, during the first hours of the morning, the pleas- 
ant, dewy freshness of which operation might be felt grate- 
fully in the atmosphere of our heated chamber. 

The long gallery was very solitary, of course, at an hour 
like this, and it was with a feeling of calm relief that I 
paced its lonely length, stopping at intervals to look out 
upon the night ; one of cloudy sultriness, occasionally re- 
lieved by gusts of warm, damp wind, that bore the distant 
odors of swamp and forest on its wings and promised speedy 
rain. Here and there in the dappled heavens were liquid 
purple spaces, like the open sea, described by Arctic 
voyagers, around which hung masses of silvery clouds, pro- 
jecting like ice cliffs ; and into these patches of sky the 
large yellow moon would now and then sail majesticall} 7 ; 
suddenly emerging like a ship from a fog, from the fleecy 
screen that veiled her light, to cross these spaces and 
plunge into mist and shadow again. 

There was something in the whole effect calculated to 
absorb the mind of an absent dreamer, intent on the future, 
and for the first time for many weeks, putting aside all for- 
eign considerations in favor of self, too long merged in oth- 
ers and neglected. In the deep quiet of meditation, and in 
the contemplation of that serene summer heaven, the iden- 
tity of Beauseincourt was lost, and for a time I forgot in 
what place I stood and by whom I was surrounded, as en- 
tirely as if I had never trod across the gloomy threshold, or 
known that fated family. Such oblivion was not long to be 
permitted. 

I was startled from my reverie by a sound, familiar once 
as annoying, but from which my ear had been free for many 
months ; the clear, clanking noise of a chain rattling upon 
the ground, that seemed to proceed from the court-yard 


4G4 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS. 


below, nay, from the cistern itself, partly in light and part- 
ly in deep shadow as this was, with its rows of water-jars, 
arrayed like dusky soldiers in the glimmering gloom. Yet 
there was no apprehension mixed with the feeling with 
which I looked down at first upon a scene chiselled out by 
that severest of sculptors, moonlight. Every branch, every 
shrub, stood out distinct and clear in that pre-Raphaelite 
treatment, and the lines of demarkation between one object 
and another were as sudden and sharp as if cut with trench- 
ant steel, and traced with ice-rime. “ What can it be ? ” I 
questioned later, as I saw beneath the projecting eaves of 
the store-house, an object large, dark and shapeless, moving 
restlessly among the tanks and shadows, and again heard 
the rattling of that chain, disused since the death of Jumbo. 
“ Some creature has got entangled there,” I thought; “ a 
calf, or a deer perhaps ; or a fierce watch-dog has broken 
loose. I will wait and see ; it will probably come out into 
the moonlight before the clouds veil it again, and I must 
know.” 

But in spite of words like these, self-spoken words, in- 
tended for self-encouragement, there was a weight like lead 
at my heart, cold, oppressive, unaccountable ; and I could 
not have torn myself away, to have saved my own life, from 
the scene of fascination, physically or mentally, by any ef- 
fort ; and now I was conscious of another form, a man’s, 
unmistakably, this time, moving cautiously, at the very 
edge of the shadow, but still within its limits, groping for 
something, stooping and rising alternately, as it seemed, 
then standing upright and motionless for a spell, and finally, 
suddenly emerging into the moonlight. 

Gazing with wild, distended eyes, I clung with spasmod- 
ic, trembling fingers to the balusters of the gallery, as the 
ghastly pair, thus horribly defined, staggered forth into the 
sheeny splendor of the moon, just reeling into shadow 
again, and stood for a moment, one only, the man with up- 
lifted face, clearly revealed before me. 

No; I will not draw down upon my head the contempt 
or derision of my reader, or again freeze my own blood by 
any farther attempt at the delineation of this fearful specta- 
cle, which once beheld, can never leave my memory, and 
from which my mind still recoils as it then recoiled*! with 
horror unspeakable. 


MIRIAMS MEMOIRS. 


465 


Scream after scream resounded in my ears, as if uttered 
by the voice of another person, as I turned and fled along 
the silent gallery. I had no thought whither, but instinct- 
ively, as it seemed, attaining my own chamber, to fall, ter- 
ror-stricken and agonized upon my bed, yet clearly con- 
scious of all that had transpired. And still Bertie slept on 
profoundly, in her state of blessed unconsciousness. “God 
giveth his beloved sleep, ” was never more fully illustrated, 
and even while the cold dew bathed my limbs, and the 
chilling grasp of death seemed laid upon me, I was thank- 
ful for her immunity from such a community of horror. 

I think it was Coleridge who said ** No man could see a 
ghost believing it such, and live afterwards. ” But I am 
convinced this result would depend not so much on the hor- 
ror of the sight, as the degree of vitality and strength pos- 
sessed by the beholder of such a spectacle, if indeed, God 
suffers such to exist at all. For still there are moments 
when I doubt the evidence of my own senses, rather than 
question His justice, “ who doeth all things well,” nor can 
it be known until the day of doom whether what my eyes 
beheld that night was a figment of my own brain or a vis- 
ion of deepest hell. The screams I had uttered were at- 
tributed by those who heard them, and who came forth 
vainly to investigate their cause, to the terror of some night- 
bird which had taken shelter in the gallery, to elude its 
pursuing foe, so wild and inhuman were those wails of 
mortal agony. From me no solution was required. 

That the grasp of death was on me, I felt for a season, 
and the icy anguish that congealed my frame yielded slow- 
ly to the efforts of nature, dragging her young, strong crea- 
ture slowly back from the precipice of dismay, abdvejwhich 
she had been clinging to life, to courage and existence. 

Volition was here suspended from first to last. 

I have given here this strange experience of my life for 
what it is worth, truthfully, unreservedly, for the first time 
since I encountered it; for even yet, to write, to think of 
it, chills and thrills me to the very centre of my being. I 
pour it out as we empty bitter dregs from a crystal vase 
which we design for better uses, and with this libation of * 
horror the reader leaves Beauseincourt forever. 

What befell me on my homeward way, what after trials 

29 


466 


MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS, 


were mine, what my earlier ones had been, as well as my 
further adventures, must form the subject of another volume, 
which will be found contained in the sequel to and final con- 
clusion of “Miriam’s Memoirs,” just published, under the 
title of “Sea and Shore.” Until then, farewell, gentle and 
patient companions — who have so far accompanied me on my 
path of destiny. 

We part at one of its portals; shall we strike hands 
again until we reach another? 

'file answer rests with time. 



CATALOGUE OF BOOKS 

PUBLISHED BY 

T. B. PETERSON and BROTHERS, 

PHILADELPHIA, PA. 


ANY OF THE BOOKS IN THIS CATALOGUE, NOT TO BE 
HAD OF YOUR BOOKSELLER, WILL BE SENT BY MAIL, 
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The Books in the following Catalogue, will be found to be the 
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most Popular and Celebrated writers in the world. They are also 
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New Books are issued by us every week, comprising the most 
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Orders solicited from Booksellers, Librarians, Canvassers, News 
Agents, and all others in want of good and fast selling 
books, which will be supplied at very Low Prices. «^j| 


MRS. EMMA D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH’S WORKS. 


Complete, in thirty-nine large duodecimo 
price $1.75 each; or $68.25 a i 


How He Won Her, $1 75 

Fair Play, 1 75 

The Spectre Lover 1 75 

Victor’s Triumph, 1 75 

A Beautiful Fiend, 1 75 

The Artist’s Love, 1 75 

A Noble Lord, 1 75 

Lost Heir of Linlithgow, 1 75 

Tried for her Life, 1 75 

Cruel as the Grave, 1 75 

The Maiden Widow, 1 75 

The Family Doom,.... 1 75 

The Bride’s Fate, 1 75 

The Changed Brides, 1 75 

Fallen Pride, 1 75 

The Christmas Guest, 1 75 

The Widow’s Son, 1 75 

The Bride of Llewellyn, 1 75 

The Fortune Seeker, 1 75 


The Missing Bride; or, Miriam, the 
Above are each in cloth, or each o 


olumes, hound in morocco cloth, gilt back, 
each set is put up in a neat box. 

The Fatal Marriage, $1 75 

The Deserted Wife, 1 75 

The Bridal Eve, 1 75 

The Lost Heiress, 1 75 

The Two Sisters, 1 75 

Lady of the Isle, 1 75 

Prince of Darkness, 1 75 

The Three Beauties, 1 75 

Vivia; or the Secret of Power, 1 75 

Love’s Labor Won, 1 75 

The Gipsy’s Prophecy, 1 75 

Haunted Homestead, 1 75 

Wife’s Victory, 1 75 

All worth Abbey 1 75 

The Mother-in-Law, 1 75 

India; Pearl of Pearl River,.. 1 75 

Curse of Clifton, 1 75 

Discarded Daughter, 1 75 

The Mystery of Dark Hollow,.. 1 75 
Avenger, 1.75 | Retribution, .... 1 75 


is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 


MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS’ WORKS. 


Complete in twenty-two large duodecimo volumes, bound in morocco cloth, gilt back, 
price $1.75 each ; or $38.50 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 


Bertha’s Engagement, $1 75 

Bellehood and Bondage, 1 75 

The Old Countess, 1 75 

Lord Hope’s Choice, 1 75 

The Reigning Belle, 1 75 

A Noble Woman, 1 75 

Palaces and Prisons, 1 75 

Married in Haste, 1 75 

Wives and Widows, 1 75 

Ruby Gray’s Strategy, 1 75 

Doubly False, 1 75 


Above are each in cloth, or each 


The Soldiers’ Orphans, $1 75 

Silent Struggles, 1 75 

The Rejected Wife, 1 75 

The Wife’s Secret, 1 75 

Mary Derwent, 1 75 

Fashion and Famine, 1 75 

The Curse of Gold, 1 75 

Mabel’s Mistake, 1 75 

The Old Homestead, 1 75 

The Heiress, 1 75 

The Gold Brick, 1 75 


is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 


MRS. C. A. WARFIELD’S WORKS. 

Complete in six large duodecimo volumes, bound in morocco cloth, gilt back, price $1.75 
each; or $10.50 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 


Monfort Hall, $1 75 

Miriam’s Memoirs, 1 75 

Sea and Shore, 1 75 


The Household of Bouverie,....$l 75 
Hester Howard’s Temptation,.. 1 75 
A Double Wedding, 1 75 


1 ^* Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. (1) 


2 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


MRS. CAROLINE LEE HENTZ’S WORKS. 

Green and Gold Editim. Complete in twelve volumes, in green morocco cloth, 
price $ 1.75 each; or $ 21.00 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 


Ernest Linwood, $1 75 

The Planter’s Northern Bride,.. 1 75 

Courtship and Marriage, 1 75 

Rena; or, the Snow Bird, 1 75 

Marcus Warland, 1 75 


Love after Marriage, $1 75 

Eoline; or Magnolia Yale, 1 75 

The Lost Daughter, 1 75 

The Banished Son, 1 75 

Helen and Arthur, 1 75 


Linda; or, the Young Pilot of the Belle Creole, 1 75 

Robert Graham; the Sequel to “ Linda; or Pilot of Belle Creole,”... 1 75 
Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 

BEST COOK BOOKS PUBLISHED. 

Every housekeeper should possess at least one of the following Cook Books, as they 
would save the price of it in a week's cooking. 

The Queen of the Kitchen. Containing 1007 Old Maryland 

Family Receipts for Cooking, Cloth, 

Miss Leslie’s New Cookery Book, Cloth, 

Mrs. Hale’s New Cook Book, Cloth, 

Petersons’ New Cook Book, Cloth, 

Widdifield’s New Cook Book, Cloth, 

Mrs. Goodfellow’s Cookery as it Should Be, Cloth, 

The National Cook Book. By a Practical Housewife, Cloth, 

The Young Wife’s Cook Book, Cloth, 

Miss Leslie’s New Receipts for Cooking, Cloth, 

Mrs. Hale’s Receipts for the Million, Cloth, 

The Family Save-All. By author of “National Cook Book,” Cloth, 
Francatelli’s Modern Cook. With the most approved methods of 
French, English, German, and Italian Cookery. With Sixty-two 
Illustrations. One volume of 600 pages, bound in morocco cloth, 5 


$1 

1 

1 

1 

1 

1 

1 

1 

1 

1 

.1 


75 

75 

75 

75 

75 

75 

75 

75 

75 

75 

75 


00 


JAMES A. MAITLAND’S WORKS. 


Complete in seven large duodecimo volumes, bound in cloth, gilt back, price $ 1.75 
each ; or $ 12.25 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 


The Watchman, $1 75 

The Wanderer,... 1 75 

The Lawyer’s Story, 1 75 


Diary of an Old Doctor, $1 75 

Sartaroe, 1 75 

The Three Cousins, 1 75 


The Old Patroon ; or the Great Van Broek Property, 1 75 

Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 

T. ADOLPHUS TROLLOPE’S WORKS. 

Complete in seven large duodecimo volumes, bound in cloth, gilt back, price $ 1.75 
each ; or $ 12.25 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 


The Sealed Packet, $1 75 

Garstang Grange, 1 75 

Leonora Casaloni,... 1 75 | Gemma, 


Dream Numbers, $1 75 

Beppo, the Conscript, 1 75 

1 75 | Marietta, 1 75 


Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 


EREDBIKA BREMER’S WORKS. 

Complete in six large duodecimo volumes, bound in cloth, gilt back, price $ 1.75 each; 
or $ 10.50 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 

Father and Daughter, $1 75 I The Neighbors, $1 75 

The Four Sisters, 1 75 I The Home, 1 75 

Above are each in cloth, or each one i3 in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 
Life in the Old World. In two volumes, cloth, price, 3 50 


Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 3 


MISS ELIZA A. DUPDY’S WORKS. 

Complete in fourteen large duodecimo volumes, bound in morocco cloth, gilt back, price 
_ %l.lb each ; or $24.50 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 


A New Way to Win a Fortune $1 75 

The Discarded Wife, 1 75 

The Clandestine Marriage, 1 75 

The Hidden Sio, 1 75 

The Dethroned Heiress, 1 75 

The Gipsy’s Warning, 1 75 

All For Love, 1 75 

Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at 

EMERSON BENNETT’S WORKS. 

Complete in seven large duodecimo volumes, bound in cloth, gilt back, price $1.75 
each ; or $12.25 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 


Why Did He Marry Her ? $1 75 

Who Shall be Victor? 1 75 

The Mysterious Guest, 1 75 

Was He Guilty? 1 75 

The Cancelled Will, 1 75 

The Planter’s Daughter, 1 75 

Michael Rudolph, 1 75 

.50 each. 


The Border Rover, $1 75 

Clara Moreland, 1 75 

The Orphan’s Trials, i 75 


Bride of the Wilderness, $1 75 

Ellen Norbury, 1 75 

Kate Clarendon, 1 75 


Viola,* or Adventures in the Far South-West, 1 75 

Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 
The Heiress of Bellefonte, 75 | The Pioneer’s Daughter, 75 

D0ESTICK3’ WORKS. 

Complete in four large duodecimo volumes, bound in cloth, gilt back, price $1.75 
each ; or $7.00 a set, each set i.\put up in a neat box. 

Doesticks’ Letters, $1 75 I The Elephant Club, $1 75 

Plu-Ri-Bus-Tah, 1 75 | Witches of New York, 1 75 

Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 

GREEN’S WORKS ON GAMBLING. 

Complete in four large duodecimo volumes, bound in cloth, gilt back, price $1.75 
each; or $7.00 a set , each set is put up in a neat box. 

Gambling Exposed, $1 75 i Reformed Gambler, $1 75 

The Gambler’s Life, 1 75 | Secret Band of Brothers, 1 75 

Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 

DOW’S PATENT SERMONS. 

Complete in four large duodecimo volumes, bound in cloth, gilt back, price $1.50 
each ; or $6.00 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 

Dow’s Patent Sermons, 1st Dow’s Patent Sermons, 3d 


Series, cloth, $1 50 

Dow’s Patent Sermons, 2d 
Series, cloth, 1 50 


Series, cloth, $1 50 

Dow’s Patent Sermons, 4th 
Series, cloth 1 50 


Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.00 each. 

WILKIE COLLINS’ BEST WORKS. 

Basil; or, The Crossed Path..$l 50 | The Dead Secret. 12mo $1 50 

Above are each in one large duodecimo volume, bound in cloth. 


The Dead Secret, 8vo 50 

Basil; or, the Crossed Path, 75 

Hide and Seek, 75 

After Dark, 75 


The Queen’s Revenge, 75 

Miss or Mrs ? 50 

Mad Monkton, 50 

Sights a-Foot, 50 


The Stolen Mask, 25 | The Yellow Mask,... 25 | Sister Rose,... 25 

The above books are each issued in paper cover, in octavo form. 

FRANK FORRESTER’S SPORTING BOOK. 

Frank Forrester’s Sporting Scenes and Characters. By Henry Wil- 
liam Herbert. With Illustrations by Darley. Two vols., cloth,. ..$4 00 


1^* Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


4 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ IUBLICATIONS 


BOOKS FOR PRIVATE STUDY AND SCHOOLS. 

The Lawrence Speaker. A Selection of Literary Gems in Poetry and 
Prose, designed for the use of Colleges, Schools, Seminaries, Literary 
Societies. By Philip Lawrence, Professor of Elocution. 600 pages..$2 00 
Comstock’s Elocution and Model Speaker. Intended for the use of 
Schools, Colleges, and for private Study, for the Promotion of 
Health, Cure of Stammering, and Defective Articulation. By An- 
drew Comstock and Philip Lawrence. With 236 Illustrations 2 00 

The French, German, Spanish, Latin and Italian Languages Without 
a Master. Whereby any one of these Languages can be learned 

without a Teacher. By A. H. Monteith. One volume, cloth 2 00 

Comstock’s Colored Chart. Being a perfect Alphabet of the Eng- 
lish Language, Graphic and Typic, with exercises in Pitch, Force 
and Gesture, and Sixty-Eight colored figures, representing the va- 
rious postures and different attitudes to be used in declamation. 

On a large Roller. Every School should have a copy of it, 5 00 

Liebig’s Complete Works on Chemistry. By Baron Justus Liebig... 2 00 

WORKS BY THE VERY BEST AUTHORS. 

The following books are each issued in one large duodecimo volume , 
bound in cloth , at $1.75 each, or each one is inpaper cover, at $1.50 each. 

The Initials. A Love Story. By Baroness Tautphceus, $1 75 

The Autobiography of Edward Wortley Montagu, 1 75 

Margaret Maitland. By Mrs. Oliphant, author of “ Zaidee,” 1 75 

Family Pride. By author of ‘‘Pique,” “ Family Secrets,” etc 1 75 

Self-Sacrifice. By author of “ Margaret Maitland,” etc 1 75 

The Woman in Black. A Companion to the “Woman in White,” ... 1 75 

A Woman’s Thoughts about Women. By Miss Mulocb, 1 75 

Flirtations in Fashionable Life. By Catharine Sinclair, 1 75 

False Pride; or, Two Ways to Matrimony. A Charming Book, 1 75 

The Heiress in the Family. By Mrs. Mackenzie Daniel, 1 75 

Popery Exposed. An Exposition of Popery as it was and is, 1 75 

The Heiress of Sweetwater. A Charming Novel, 1 75 

Woman’s Wrong. By Mrs. Eiloart, author of “St. Bede’s,” 1 75 

A Lonely Life. By the author of “ Wise as a Serpent,” etc 1 75 

The Macdermots of Ballycloran. By Anthony Trollope, 1 75 

Lost Sir Massingberd. By the author of “ Carlyon’s Year,” 1 75 

The Forsaken Daughter. A Companion to “Linda,” 1 75 

Love and Liberty. A Revolutionary Story. By Alexander Dumas, 1 75 
Rose Douglas. A Companion to “ Family Pride,” and “ Self Sacrifice,” 1 75 
Family Secrets. A Companion to “Family Pride,” and “Pique,”... 1 75 

The Morrisons. By Mrs. Margaret Hosiner, 1 75 

My Son’s Wife. By author of “Caste,” “Mr. Arle,” etc 1 75 

The Rich Husband. By author of “ George Geith,” 1 75 

Harem Life in Egypt and Constantinople. By Emmeline Lott, 1 75 

The Rector’s Wife; or, the Valley of a Hundred Fires, 1 75 

Woodburn Grange. A Novel. By William Howitt, 1 75 

Country Quarters. By the Countess of P.lessington, 1 75 

Out of the Depths. The Story of a. “Woman’s Life,” 1 75 

The Coquette; or, the Life and Letters of Eliza Wharton, 1 75 

The Pride of Life. A Story of the Heart. By Lady Jane Scott,,.... 1 75 

The Lost Beauty. By a Noted Lady of the Spanish Court 1 75 

Rome and the Papacy. A History of the Men, Manners and Tempo- 
ral Government of Rome in the Nineteenth Century, 1 75 

Above books are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 

Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on Receipt of Retail Price, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


u 


WORKS BY THE VERY BEST AUTHORS. 

The following hooks are each issued in one large duodecimo volume * 
hound in cloth , at $1.75 each } or each one%'s in paper cover at $1.50 each. 
The Count of Monte-Cristo. By Alexander Dumas. Illustrated, ...$1 75 
The Countess of Monte-Cristo. Paper cover, price $1.00 ; or cloth,.. 1 75 
Camille; or, the Fate of a Coquette. By Alexander Dumas.......... 1 75 

My Hero. By Mrs. Forrester. A Charming Love Story, 1 75 

Tue Quaker Soldier. A Revolutionary Romance. By Judge Jones,.... 1 75 
The Man of the World. An Autobiography. By William North,... 1 75 
The Queen’s Favorite; or, The Price of a Crown. A Love Story,... 1 75 

Self Love; or, The Afternoon of Single and Married Life, 1 75 

Memoirs of Vidocq, the French Detective. His Life and Adventures, 1 75 

The Clyffards of Clyffe, by author of “ Lost Sir Massingberd,” 1 75 

Camors. “ The Man of the Second Empire/’ By Octave Feuillet,.. 1 75 
Life, Speeches and Martyrdom of Abraham Lincoln. Illustrated,... 1 75 
The Belle of Washington. With her Portrait. By Mrs. N. P. Lasselle, 1 75 
Cora Belmont; or, The Sincere Lover. A True Story of the Heart,. 1 75 
The Lover’s Trials; or Days before 1776. By Mrs. Mary A. Denison, 1 75 
High Life in Washington. A Life Picture. By Mrs. N. P. Lasselle, 1 75 

The Beautiful Widow; or, Lodore. By Mrs. Percy B. Shelley, 1 75 

Love and Money. By J. B. Jones, author of the “Rival Belles,”... 1 75 
The Matchmaker. A Story of High Life. By Beatrice Reynolds,.. 1 75 
The Brother’s Secret ; or, the Count De Mara. By William Godwin, 1 75 
The Lost Love. By Mrs. Oiiphant, author of “ Margaret Maitland,” 1 75 
The Roman Traitor. By Henry William Herbert. A Roman Story, 1 75 


The Bohemians of London. By Edward M. Whitty, 1 75 

The Rival Belles; or, Life in Washington. By J. B. Jones, 1 75 


The Devoted Bride. A Story of the Heart. By St. George Tucker, 1 75 
Love and Duty. By Mrs. Hubback, author of “ May and December,” 1 75 
Wild Sports and Adventures in Africa. By Major W. C. Harris, 1 75 
Courtship and Matrimony. By Robert Morris. With a Portrait,... 1 75 


The Jealous Husband. By Annette Marie Maillard, 1 75 

The Refugee. By Herman Melville, author of “ Omoo,” “ Typee,” 1 75 

The Life, Writings, and Lectures of the late “ Fanny Fern,” 1 75 

The Life and Lectures of Lola Montez, with her portrait, 1 75 

Wild Southern Scenes. By author of “Wild Western Scenes,” 1 75 

Currer Lyle ; or, the Autobiography of an Actress. By Louise Reeder. 1 75 
Coal, Coal Oil, and all other Minerals in the Earth. By Eli Bowen, 1 75 

The Cabin and Parlor. By J. Thornton Randolph. Illustrated, 1 75 

The Little Beauty. A Love Story. By Mrs. Grey, 1 75 

Secession, Coercion, and Civil War. By J. B. Jones, 1 75 

Lizzie Glenn; or, the Trials of a Seamstress. By T. S. Arthur 1 75 


Lady Maud ; or, the Wonder of Kingswood Chase. By Pierce Egan, 1 75 

Wilfred Montressor ; or, High Life in New York. Illustrated, 1 75 

- The Old Stone Mansion. By C. J. Peterson, author “ Kate Aylesford,” 1 75 
Kate Aylesford. By Chas. J. Peterson, author “ Old Stone Mansion,”. 1 75 

Lorrimer Littlegood, by author “Harry Coverdale’s Courtship,” 1 75 

The Earl’s Secret. A Love Story. By Miss Pardoe, 1 75 

The Adopted Heir. By Miss Pardoe, author of “The Earl’s Secret,” 1 75 
Above books are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 
The Dead Secret. By Wilkie Collins, author “ The Crossed Path,”... 1 50 

The Crossed Path ; or Basil. By Wilkie Collins, 1 50 

Indiana. A Love Story. By George Sand, author of “ Consuelo,” 1 50 
Jealousy; or, Teverino. By George Sand, author of “ Consuelo,” etc. 1 50 
Six Nights with the Washingtonians, Illustrated. By T. S. Arthur, 3 50 


Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on Receipt of Retail Price, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


6 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


WORKS BY THE VERY BEST AUTHORS. 

The following books are each issued in one large duodecimo volume , 
bound in cloth , at $1.75 each , or each one is in paper cover , at $1.50 each. 
The Conscript; or, the Days of Napoleon 1st. By Alex. Dumas, ....$1 75 
Cousin Harry. By Mrs. Grey, author of “ The Gambler’s Wife,” etc. 1 75 
Saratoga. An Indian Tale of Frontier Life. A true Story of 1787,.. 1 75 

Married at Last. A Love Story. By Annie Thomas, 1 75 

Shoulder Straps. By Henry Morford, author of “Days of Shoddy,” 1 75 
Days of Shoddy. By Henry Morford, author of “Shoulder Straps,” 1 75 

The Coward. By Henry Morford, author of “ Shoulder Straps,” 1 75 

The Cavalier. By G. P. It. James, author of “Lord Montagu’s Page,” 1 75 


Rose Foster. By George W. M. Reynolds, Esq., 1 75 

Lord Montagu’s Page. By G. P. R. James, authorof “Cavalier,”... 1 75 
Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth’s Popular Novels. 38 vols. in all, 66 50 

Mrs. Ann S. Stephens’ Celebrated Novels. 22 volumes in all, 38 50 

Miss Eliza A. Dupuy’s Works. Thirteen volumes in all, 22 25 

Mrs. Caroline Lee Ilentz’s Novels. Twelve volumes in all, 21 00 

Frederika Bremer’s Novels. Six volumes in all, 10 50 

T. A. Trollope’s Works. Seven volumes in all, 12 25 

James A. Maitland’s Novels. Seven volumes in all, 12 25 

Q. K. Philander Doestick’s Novels. Four volumes in all, 7 00 

Cook Books. The best in the world. Eleven volumes in all, 19 25 

Henry Morford’s Novels. Three volumes in all, 5 25 

Mrs. Henry Wood’s Novels. Seventeen volumes in all, 29 75 

Emerson Bennett’s Novels. Seven volumes in all, 12 25 

Green’s Works on Gambling. Four volumes in all, 7 00 


Above books are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 


The folloicing books are each issued in one large octavo volume, bound in 
cloth, at $2.00 each, or each one is done up in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 

The Wandering Jew. By Eugene Sue. Full of Illustrations, $2 00 

Mysteries of Paris ; and its Sequel, Gerolstein. By Eugene Sue,.... 2 00 

Martin, the Foundling. By Eugene Sue. Full of Illustrations, 2 00 

Ten Thousand a Year. By Samuel Warren. With Illustrations,.... 2 00 

Washington and His Generals. By George Lippard 2 00 

The Quaker City; or, the Monks of Monk Hall. By George Lippard, 2 00 

Blanche of Brandywine. By George Lippard, 2 00 

Paul Ardenheim; the Monk of Wissahickon. By George Lippard,. 2 00 

The Pictorial Tower of London. By W. Harrison Ainsworth, 2 50 

Above books are each iu cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 


The following are each issued in one large octavo volume , bound in cloth, price $2.00 
each , or a cheap edition is issued in paper cover, at lb cents each. 


Charles O’Malley, the Irish Dragoon. By Charles Lever, Cloth, $2 00 

Harry Lorrequer. With his Confessions. By Charles Lever,.. .Cloth, 2 00 

Jack Hinton, the Guardsman. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 2 00 

Davenport Dunn. A Man of Our Day. By Charles Lever, ...Cloth, 2 00 

Tom Burke of Ours. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 2 00 

The Knight of Gwynne. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 2 00 

Arthur O’Leary. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 2 00 

Con Cregan. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 2 00 

Horace Templeton. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 2 00 

Kate O'Donoghue. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 2 00 

Valentino Vox, the Ventriloquist. By Harry Cockton, Cloth, 2 00 


Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at 75 cents each. 


Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 7 


NEW AND GOOD BOOKS BY BEST AUTHORS. 

Beautiful Snow, and Other Poems. Neio Illustrated Edition. By J. 

W. Watson. With Illustrations by E. L. Henry. One volume, green 
morocco cloth, gilt top, side, and back, price $2.00; or in maroon 

morocco cloth, full gilt edges, full gilt back, full gilt sides, etc., $3 00 

The Outcast, and Other Poems. By J. W. Watson. One volume, 
green morocco cloth, gilt top, side and back, price $2.00 ; or in ma- 
roon morocco cloth, full gilt edges, full gilt back, full gilt sides, ... 3 00 
The Young Magdalen; and Other Poems. By Francis S. Smith, 
editor of “ The New York Weekly.” With a portrait of the author. 
Complete in one large volume of 300 pages, bound in green mo- 
rocco cloth, gilt top, side, and back, price $3.00 ; or in maroon 
morocco cloth, full gilt edges, full gilt back, full gilt sides, etc...... 4 00 

Hans Breitmann’s Ballads. By Charles G. Leland. Volume One. Con- 


taining the “ First” “ Second,” and “ Third Series” of the “ Breit- 

mann Ballads ,” bound in morocco cloth, gilt, beveled boards, 3 00 

Hans Breitmann’s Ballads. By Charles G. Leland. Volume Two. 
Containing the u Fourth” and “ Fifth Series” of the (< Breitmann 

Ballads,” bound in morocco cloth, gilt, beveled boards, 2 00 

Hans Breitmann’s Ballads. By Charles G. Leland. Being the above 
two volumes complete in one. In one large volume, bound in 
morocco cloth, gilt side, gilt top, and full gilt back, with beveled 

boards. AYith a full and complete Glossary to the whole work, 4 00 

Meister Karl’s Sketch Book. By Charles G. Leland, (Ilans Breit- 
mann.) Complete in one volume, green morocco cloth, gilt side, 
gilt top, gilt back, with beveled boards, price $2.50, or in maroon 

morocco cloth, full gilt edges, full gilt back, full gilt sides, etc., 3 50 

Historical Sketches of Plymouth, Luzerne Co., Penna. By Hendrick 

B. Wright, of Wilkesbarre. With Twenty-five Photographs, 4 00 

John Jasper’s Secret. A Sequel to Charles Dickens’ “Mystery of 

Edwin Drood.” With 18 Illustrations. Bound in cloth, 2 00 

The Last Athenian. From the Swedish of Victor Rydberg. Highly 
recommended by Fredrika Bremer. Paper $1.50, or in cloth, 2 00 


Across the Atlantic. Letters from France, Switzerland, Germany, 

Italy, and England. By C. H. Haeseler, M.D. Bound in cloth,... 2 00 
The Ladies’ Guide to True Politeness and Perfect Manners. By 
Miss Leslie. Every lad}' should have it. Cloth, full gilt back,... 1 75 
The Ladies’ Complete Guide to Needlework and Embroidery. With 

113 illustrations. By Miss Lambert. Cloth, full gilt back, 1 75 

The Ladies’ Work Table Book. With 27 illustrations. Cloth, gilt,. 1 50 
The Story of Elizabeth. By Miss Thackeray, paper $1.00, or cloth,... 1 50 
Dow’s Short Patent Sermons. By Dow, Jr. In 4 vols., cloth, each.... 1 50 
Wild Oats Sown Abroad. A Spicy Book. By T. B. Witmer, cloth,... 1 50 
Aunt Patty’s Scrap Bag. By Mrs. Caroline Lee Hentz, author of 

“ Linda,” etc. Full of Illustrations, and bound in cloth, 1 50 

Hollick’s Anatomy and Physiology of the Human Figure. Illustrated 
by a perfect dissected plate of the Human Organization, and by 
other separate plates of the Human Skeleton, such as Arteries, 

Veins, the Heart, Lungs, Trachea, etc. Illustrated. Bound, 2 00 

Life and Adventures of Don Quixote and his Squire Sancho Panza, 
complete in one large volume, paper cover, for $1.00, or in cloth,.. 1 75 
The Laws and Practice of the Game of Euchre, as adopted by the 

Euchre Club of Washington, D. C. Bound in cloth, 1 00 

Riddell’s Model Architect. With 22 largo full page colored illus- 
trations, and 44 plates of ground plans, with plans, specifications, 
costs of building, etc. One large quarto volume, bound, $15 00 

Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


Mss. Cue Lee Hews Work 

12 VOLUMES, AT $1.75 EACH ; OR $21.00 A SET- 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, No. 306 Chestnut Street , 
Philadelphia, have just published an entire new, complete, and uniform 
edition of all the celebrated Novels written by the popular American 
Novelist, Mrs. Caroline Lee Hentz, in twelve large duodecimo volumes. 
They are printed on the finest paper, and bound in the most beautiful 
style , in Green Morocco doth, with a new, full gilt back, and sold at 
the low price of $1.75 each, or $21.00 for a full and complete set. 
Every Family and every Library in this country, should have in it a 
complete set of this new and beautiful edition of the works of Mrs. 
Caroline Lee Hentz. The following is a complete list of 

MRS, CAROLINE LEE HENTZ’S WORKS. 

LINDA; OK, THE YOUNG PILOT OF THE BELLE CEEOLE. With 
a complete Biography of Mrs. Caroline Lee Hentz. 

ROBERT GRAHAM. A Sequel to “Linda; or, The Young Pilot 
of the Belle Creole.” 

RENA ; or, THE SNOW BIRD. A Tale of Real Life. 

MARCUS WARLAND; or, The Long Moss Spring. 

ERNEST LINWOOD ; or, The Inner Life of the Author. 

EOLINE; or, MAGNOLIA VALE; or, The Heiress of Glenmore. 
THE PLANTER’S NORTHERN BRIDE; or, Scenes in Mrs. Hentz’* 
Childhood. 

HELEN AND ARTHUR ; or, Miss Thusa's Spinning-Wheel. 

COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE; or, The Joys and Sorrows of 
American Life. 

LOVE AFTER MARRIAGE ; and other Stories of the Heart. 

THE LOST DAUGHTER; and other Stories of the Heart. 

THE BANISHED SON ; and other Stories of the Heart. 

fpgt' Above Books are for sale by all Booksellers at $1.75 each, oi 
$21. 00 for a complete set of the twelve volumes. Copies of either one 
of the above books , or a complete set of them, will be sent at once to 
any one, to any place, postage pre-paid, or free of freight, on remit- 
ting their price in a letter to the Publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON" & BROTHERS, 

306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa. 


Am S. Stephens’ Complete Works. 


22 VOLUMES, AT $1.75 EACH; OR $38.50 A SET. 


T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS , No. 306 Chestnut Street , 
Philadelphia , Pa., Aaw published an entire new , complete , and 
uniform edition of all the works written by Mrs. Ann S. Stephens , 
the popular American Authoress. This edition is in duodecimo form , 
and is printed on the finest of white paper , and is complete in twenty - 
volumes , and each volume is bound in the very best manner , in 
morocco cloth, with a full gilt back , and is sold at the low price of $1.75 
a volume , or $38.50 for a full and complete set. Every Family and 
every Library in this country, should have in it a complete set of this 
new and beautiful edition of the works of Mrs. Ann S. Stephens. The 
following are the names of the volumes : 

BERTHA’S ENGAGEMENT. 

BELLEHOOD AND BONDAGE; or, Bought with a Price. 
WIVES AND WIDOWS; or, The Broken Life. 

LORD HOPE’S CHOICE; or, More Secrets Than One. 
THE OLD COUNTESS. Sequel to “Lord Hope’s Choice.” 
THE REIGNING BELLE. 

PALACES AND PRISONS; or, The Prisoner of the Bastile. 
A NOBLE WOMAN; or, A Gulf Between Them. 

THE CURSE OF GOLD; or, The Bound Girl and Wife’s Trials. 
MABEL’S MISTAKE; or, The Lost Jewels. 

THE OLD HOMESTEAD; or, Pet From the Poor House. 
MARRIED IN HASTE. 

THE REJECTED WIFE; or, The Ruling Passion. 

THE WIFE’S SECRET; or, Gillian. 

THE HEIRESS; or, The Gipsy’s Legacy. 

THE SOLDIER’S ORPHANS. 

SILENT STRUGGLES; or, Barbara Stafford. 

RUBY GRAY’S STRATEGY; or, Married by Mistake. 
FASHION AND FAMINE. 

DOUBLY FALSE; or, Alike and Not Alike. 

THE GOLD BRICK. 

MARY DERWENT. 

Above Books are for sale by all Booksellers at $1.75 each, or 
$38.50 for a complete set of the twenty-two volumes. Copies of either one 
or more of the above books, or a complete set of them, will be sent at 
once to any one, to any place , postage pre-paid, or free of freight , on 
remitting their price in a letter to the Publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 

306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa. 


IBS. EMM D. E. N. SODTEVOETH’S WORKS. 


T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS , Philadelphia, have just pub- 
lished an entire new , complete and uniform edition of all of the cele- 
brated works written by Mrs. Emma, D. E. N. Southworth, the popular 
American Female Authoress. This edition is in duodecimo form, is 
printed on the finest of white paper, is complete in thirty-nine volumes, 
and each volume is bound in morocco cloth, with a full gilt back, and 
is sold at the low price of $1.75 a volume, or $68.25 for a full and 
complete set. Every Family, and every Library in this Country should 
have in it a complete set of this new and beautiful edition of the works 
of this talented American Authoress, Mrs. Emma D. E. .N. Southworth. 

' The following are the names of the volumes : 

THE MISSING BRIDE; or, MIRIAM, THE AVENGER. 

A BEAUTIFUL FIEND; or, THROUGH THE FIRE. 
VICTOR’S TRIUMPH. A sequel to “A Beautiful Fiend.” 
FAIR PLAY; or, BRITOMARTE, THE MAN HATER. 
HOW HE WON HER. A Sequel to “ Fair Play.” 

THE CHANGED BRIDES; or, Winning Her Way. 

THE BRIDE S FATE. Sequel to “The Changed Brides.” 
LADY OF THE ISLE; or, THE ISLAND PRINCESS. 
CRUEL AS THE GRAVE; or, Hallow Eve Mystery. 

TRIED FOR HER LIFE. A Sequel to ‘‘Cruel as the Grave.” 
THE CHRISTMAS GUEST; or, The Crime and the Curse. 
THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 

THE LOST HEIR OF LINLITHGOW; or, The Brothers. 

A NOBLE LORD. Sequel to “ Lost Heir of Linlithgow.” 
THE FAMILY DOOM; or, THE SIN OF A COUNTESS. 
THE MAIDEN WIDOW. Sequel to “ Family Doom.” 
THE GIPSY’S PROPHECY; or, The Bride of an Evening. 

THE FORTUNE SEEKER; or, Astrea, The Bridal Day. 

THE THREE BEAUTIES; or, SHANNONDALE. 
ALLWORTH ABBEY; or, EUDORA. 

FALLEN PRIDE; or, THE MOUNTAIN GIRL’S LOVE. 

INDIA; or, THE PEARL OF PEARL RIVER. 

VIVIA ; or, THE SECRET OF POWER. 

THE CURSE OF CLIFTON. 

THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER; or, Children of the Isle. 

THE MOTHER-IN-LAW; or, MARRIED IN HASTE. 

THE PRINCE OF DARKNESS; or, HICKORY HALL. 

THE TWO SISTERS; or, Virginia and Magdalene. 
THE FATAL MARRIAGE; or, ORVILLE DEVILLE. 

THE WIDOW’S SON; or, LEFT ALONE. 

THE BRIDAL EVE; or, ROSE ELMER. 

THE MYSTERY OF DARK HOLLOW. 

THE DESERTED WIFE. THE WIFE’S VICTORY. 

THE LOST HEIRESS. THE ARTIST’S LOVE. 

HAUNTED HOMESTEAD. LOVE’S LABOR W ON. 

THE SPECTRE LOVER. RETRIBUTION. 

Above books are for sale by all Booksellers. Copies of any one or all 
of the above books, will be sent to any one, to any place, postage pre-paul, 
or free of freight, on remitting price of the ones wanted , to the publishers, 
T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 

306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa. 


fc Tho very best ladies’ magazine published .” — Seneca Falls (iV. T.) Courier. 

CHEAPEST AND BEST ! 

PETERSON’SMAGAZINE 

POSTAGE PRE-PAID ON ALL SUBSCRIPTIONS. 


Every subscriber for 1876 will be presented with a superb, large-sized steel 
engraving of Trumbull's celebrated picture of “ The Signing of the Declaration of 
Independence .” This will be “ Peterson's ” Centennial Gift.'^Wk 


“Peterson’s Magazine” contains, every year, 1000 pages, 14 steel plates, 12 
colored Berlin patterns, 12 mammoth colored fashion plates, 24 pages of music, and 
900 wood cuts. 

Great improvements will be made in 1876. Among them will be a series of 
illustrated articles on the Great Exhibition at Philadelphia, which will alone be 
worth the subscription price. They will be appropriately called 

THE CENTENNIAL IN PEN AND PENCIL! 

Tho immense circulation of “Peterson” enables its proprietor to spend more 
money on embellishments, stories, &c., &o., than any other. It gives more for the 
money than any in the world. Its 

THRILLING TALES AND NOVELETTES 

Are the best published anywhere. All the most popular writers are employed to write 
originally for “ Peterson." In 1876, in addition to the usual quantity of short stories, 
FIVE ORIGINAL COPYRIGHT NOVELETTES will be given, by Mrs. Ann S. 
Stephens, Frank Lee Benedict, Mrs. F. H. Burnett, and others. 

Mammoth Colored Fashion Plates 

Ahead of all others. These plates are engraved on steel, twice the usual size, and 
are uuequaled for beauty. They will be superbly colored. Also, Household and 
other receipts; in short, everything interesting to ladies. 

JV. B. — A s the pxiblishernow pre-pays the postage to all mail subscribers, “ Peterson ” 

is CHEAPER THAN EVER ; in fad is THE CHEAPEST IN THE WORLD. 


TERMS (Always in Advance) $2.00 A YEAR. 

^LIBERAL OFFERS FOR CLUBS.=©& 


2 Copies for $3.60 

3 “ “ 4.80 

4 Copies for $8.80 

7 ‘V « 11.00 

- 5 Copies for $8.50 

8 « « 12.50 

12 « « 18.00 


{ With a copy of the premium mezzotint (21 x 26) 
“ Christmas Morning,” a five dollar engraving, to 
the person getting up the Club. 
f With an extra copy of the Magazine for 1876, as 
( a premium, to the person getting up the Club. 

( With both an extra copy of the Magazine for 1876, 
J and the premium mezzotint, a five dollar engraving, 
( to the person getting up the Club. 


Address, post-paid, 

CHARLES J. PETERSON, 

306 Chestnut St., Philadelphia, Pa. 
4^ Specimens sent gratis to those wishing to get up clubs. 


BY AUTHOR OF “THE HOUSEHOLD OF BOUVERIE.” 


*o 



IN 6 VOLUMES, AT $1.75 EACH ; OR $10.50 A SET. 


T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS , 306 Chestnut Street , 
Philadelphia, Pa., have just published a complete and uniform edition 
of all the new and celebrated works written by Mrs. Catharine A. 
Warfield, the well-known and popular American writer. This edition 
is in duodecimo form, and is printed on the finest of white paper, 
and is complete in six volumes, and each volume is bound in the very 
best manner, in morocco cloth, with a full gilt back, and is sold at the 
low price of $1.75 a volume, or $10.50 for a full and complete set. 
Every Family, and every Library in this Country, should have in it 
a set of this beautiful edition of the complete works of this talented 
and gifted American Authoress, Mrs. Catharine A. Warfield. The fol- 
lowing is a list of 

MRS. C. A. WARFIELD’S NEW WORKS. 

MONFORT HALL. 

MIRIAM’S MEMOIRS. 

SEA AND SHORE. 

THE HOUSEHOLD OF BOUVERIE. 

A DOUBLE WEDDING; or, HOW SHE WAS WON. 

HESTER HOWARD’S TEMPTATION. 

J $ — - 

Above Books are for sale by all Booksellers at $ 1.75 each, or 
$10.50 for a complete set of the six volumes, or copies of either one or 
more of the above books, or a complete set of them, will be sent at once 
to any one, to any place, postage pre-paid, or free of freight, on 
remitting their price in a letter to the Publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 

306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa. 









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